


All in a Day's Work

by Evenmoor



Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adventure, Airplane Crashes, Angst, Ascension, Chance Meetings, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Family, First Meetings, Flying, Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, Introspection, Kid Fic, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Missing Scene, One Shot Collection, Past Character Death, Post-Series, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/pseuds/Evenmoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan Lorne's time with the Stargate Program has been a long series of adventures and misadventures. Sometimes exciting, sometimes frustrating, and always mind-boggling when he stopped to think about it. This series of one-shots fills in some of the blanks for the man who would one day serve as surrogate whumpage for Sheppard in the Pegasus Galaxy. Includes missing scenes, episode tags, and original incidents, as seen by the much-loved Major Lorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning in the End

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise, obviously. I make no money from this series of one-shots, which is a labor of love. 
> 
> Most of the characters named throughout appeared on _Atlantis_ and/or _SG-1_ , even the minor roles. Several characters and a lot of backstory (especially for Lorne) are original, but I do my best not contradict canon. It's a lot of work, but I think it pays off for me! 
> 
> I would like to dedicate this work to the amazing **ladygris** , a fanfic writer on FFn who is a big fan of Lorne and has written numerous works starring him. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy "All in a Day's Work." And if you're feeling nostalgic, don't hesistate to go back and rewatch your _Atlantis_ DVDs!

Everyone knew that the future of the Atlantis Expedition was up in the air at the moment, with the city stuck on Earth at least for the time being. Evan Lorne understood, of course, why the IOA didn't want to let them go back to Pegasus - as far as they were concerned, why let the most advanced (and totally irreplaceable) technology the human race possesses go back to another (extremely dangerous) galaxy when they could keep safely it in arm's reach? 

Personally, though, he figured that was a bit shortsighted; they had a responsibility to the people of Pegasus, one Richard Woolsey had made quite clear when he thrust the Expedition into the middle of galactic politics.

With a soft sigh, Evan leaned against the balcony railing and gazed out across the rippling waters to one of the most familiar sights from his childhood. Though, to be sure, he normally saw the Golden Gate Bridge from land, as opposed to an invisible city floating on the water just outside San Francisco Bay. It was a little bit eerie, he admitted to himself, to have his past and present come together in such a way. He could almost imagine that his mom and dad were somewhere over there, staring right through him.

Six-plus years with the Stargate Program totally skewed a guy's perception of 'normal.' His life, Evan thought wryly, was a story from a science fiction writer at 2 a.m. after consuming copious amounts of Jolta-Cola, ten cups of coffee, and probably a couple joints. In the city of Atlantis, he wrangled scientists who thought that accidentally blowing up a solar system was a slight miscalculation ( _cough-Rodney-cough_ ). Here, they talked about fighting life-sucking alien vampires with deadly seriousness, traveled to other planets on a regular basis, encountered versions of themselves from alternate realities, and discussed the practical problems of time travel. 

If he'd told himself ten years ago that this was what his life would be like, his younger self would probably have called the nice men in white coats to take him some place he couldn't hurt himself. 

On the other hand... 

Evan contemplated the Bridge, the sun glinting off the windshields of mid-afternoon traffic crossing the Bay. The people here on Atlantis, despite the craziness that existed all around them, lived, and loved, and lost, much the same as anyone else. There were rough days at the office, and personal triumphs, friendships made and broken, pranks pulled and missions accomplished. 

Everything in the Stargate Program was just a bit... bigger.

With a chuckle, Evan headed back to his room to grab his easel and paints. The view was practically begging to be captured, after all. Might as well oblige.


	2. Red Flowers of Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan Lorne, a bright and precocious seven-year-old, learns a bit of family history from his grandfather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set approximately twenty-five years before the first season of _Stargate Atlantis_ , and about seventeen years or so before Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, and their team went through the Gate to Abydos during the events of the _Stargate_ movie. 
> 
> This story was originally written to celebrate Veterans Day, also known as Remembrance Day in the British Commonwealth. Celebrated on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, it commemorates the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I and has since evolved into a day to recognize and acknowledge the sacrifice made by veterans of all wars.
> 
> I also wanted to try my hand at writing Lorne as a child - kidfics are not my usual cup of tea, and I'm not entirely sure how well it came out, but there it is.

* * *

Seven-year-old Evan Lorne stared in awe at the table covered with little flowers of a shade of red even brighter than a fire truck.

"Here, Evan," his grandfather said, taking one of the flowers and pinning it to the boy's shirt. He had already pinned one of the bright little flowers to his own lapel. "They're called poppies," Grandpa explained. "We wear them so that we remember, a long time ago, there was a war. A great and terrible war that covered the entire world."

"Were you there?" Evan asked curiously as he fingered the crimson flower on his shirt.

"Oh, yes. I was there. I was really little at the time. Just about your age, actually. But my father, your great-grandfather, he fought in the Great War."

He smiled, but he seemed strangely sad to the boy. He led Evan to a nearby bench and sat down, his hands gently holding Evan's. "President Wilson called it 'the war to end all wars.' It was so big that everyone thought that no one would ever fight again once it was over. And many folks like my dad went far, far away to fight, to protect our freedom. I still have every one of the letters he sent to my mother and me from overseas - if you want, I'll let you read them sometime."

His grandfather closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Don't be sad, Grandpa," Evan begged with all the honest reassurance a child could offer.

"It's alright, Evan," his grandfather told him, but there were tears on his cheeks. Evan had never known his grandfather to cry. "It's been a very long time since I've talked about my dad, and the truth is I can barely remember him at all."

"Why?" frowned Evan, trying and failing to imagine how someone could forget his own father.

"Because he died in the War, and went to Heaven. It was a very, very long time ago, and all I have left are his letters and a few photographs. But if I try really hard, I can still remember," a slow, wistful smile crossed his face, "one time he came into my room and sat next to my bed and said the night-night prayer."

"The same one Mom and Dad say when I go to bed?"

"The same one," his grandfather nodded. "And after my dad left, my mother came to my room every single night and said the night-night prayer. She told me that my father, wherever he was, no matter how far away... he was saying it with her."

"I think your mommy was really smart," Evan replied sagely. "'Cause _my_ mommy says the same thing whenever Dad goes away."

Evan's grandfather ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, and your mommy is a smart lady, too, Evan," he laughed as his grandson hopped off the bench and grabbed his hand.

"Can you show me the pictures of your dad when we get home, Grandpa?" he asked. "That way I can help you remember him."

His grandfather seemed surprised for a moment, but he leaned over and hugged Evan tightly. "Of course I'll show you, Evan," he replied, wiping away the moisture in his eyes.

* * *

 

  
_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_   
_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._   
_At the going down of the sun and in the morning,_   
_We will remember them._   


-Laurence Binyon


	3. Home Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne, back in San Francisco while on leave, enjoys his mom's home cooking a bit too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 4.06, "Window of Opportunity." At the SGC, Jack O'Neill and Teal'c try to deal with the fact that they're stuck in a time loop. Of course, the rest of the planet is stuck in the same day, too. What does this mean for people like Evan Lorne?
> 
> This is long before Lorne joined the SGC; at this point, he's just a normal, upstanding young officer in the United States Air Force.

Evan lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his stomach, which was currently protesting angrily.

"Evan, are you alright?" his mother asked solicitously as she leaned over the back of the couch. "Do you want some chamomile tea?"

"No, Mom, but I could really use some Pepto-Bismol," he groaned as he adjusted his position to better elevate his head.

"I could have told you that eating all that stuff would give you indigestion," his sister teased as she came in from the yard. "How many Mountain Dews did you have, anyway?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Evan griped. "I come back for a few days, and all I get is grief. Please, just get me the pink stuff and leave me to my gastrointestinal misery."

His mother smiled affectionately. "I'll be right back, Evan."

"Did you know that exercising with a full stomach can exacerbate indigestion?" his sister offered him helpfully. "Also, food and drink with high acid or caffeine content don't help much, either. And stress, now that's an important factor, too."

"Oh, now you say something," he retorted. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier, could you?"

She shrugged noncommittally, patting him on the shoulder. "How was I to know that you'd drink all those sodas? Or that you'd be more than a _little_ overindulgent on Mom's homemade tomato soup?"

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand," Evan winced.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all I need to know about food cravings."

His mother finally returned, Pepto-Bismol and medicine cup in hand. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

...

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home. Even though it was still early, he knew they'd be up and around. He could still picture them in their long-established morning routine: Dad nursing an aromatic cup of tea while griping over whatever was in the newspaper, Mom affectionately ignoring his complaints while preparing breakfast. Today, he smelled the familiar scent of blueberry flax pancakes, and his stomach growled threateningly.

The door opened, and he all but threw himself at his mother, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Evan!" she squeaked in surprise, her face half-buried in his shoulder. "We weren't expecting you until later!"

"Yeah, I caught an earlier flight. Are those your blueberry flax pancakes? Please tell me you and Dad haven't eaten them all yet!" he said as he grabbed his bags from the porch and moved them into the entryway.

"Of course we haven't eaten them all, Evan," his mother scolded him lovingly.

"Is that Evan at the door?" His father's voice drifted in from the kitchen.

His mother laughed. "Who else would it be at this time of the morning, dear?"

"Why, your mother, of course, dear," was the crisp, lighthearted reply. His dad came out to the hall with a wide smile on his face. He shook hands with his son. "It's good to see you, Evan. I'll take your bags to your room while you stuff yourself on your mom's pancakes. I know you want to. Might as well be written on your face in Sharpie!"

Evan chuckled ruefully. "Thanks, Dad." He was starving, actually. He hadn't had a decent meal for over twelve hours, and those pancakes smelled delicious. He followed his mom into the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools at the counter as she poured some fresh batter onto the griddle.

"Your sister's bringing her husband around later, and I'll be making my world-famous, all-natural organic tomato soup," his mom smiled cheerfully.

"You have no idea how much I have been craving that, Mom," Evan fervently assured her. "Especially after Air Force food for who knows how long, it sounds like a little bit of heaven."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl, Evan," she laughed. "Tell me, why aren't you bringing a girlfriend home with you?"

Evan rolled his eyes. They'd had this conversation before. "You know the answer to that question, Mom, and I'd much rather each blueberry flax pancakes than go over old ground with you!"

"He's right, dear," said his dad as he entered the kitchen and sat down in front of his own plate of half-eaten breakfast. "But, Evan, we do want grandkids outta you _someday_ ," he joked, cutting a piece of pancake.

"Not the support I had in mind, Dad," Evan drawled, sliding into the seat across from him. "You two just want to spoil the hypothetical grandkids rotten, anyway."

"Darn tootin'!" his mother replied as she flipped the pancakes. "What else are grandparents for, anyway?"

Ten hours (and a more than hearty family reunion dinner) later, Evan was definitely regretting his last meal. It turned out that, while delicious, consuming so much disagreed with his digestive process. He lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his stomach, which was currently protesting angrily. While his mom went to grab a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, his sister did what sisters often do: tease their brothers relentlessly.

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand," Evan winced.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all I need to know about food cravings," his sister instantly retorted.

His mother finally returned with the Pepto-Bismol. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

...

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home. Even though it was still early, he knew they'd be up and around...


	4. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Evan Lorne, stationed at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada, has an odd (and fateful) encounter at a diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Following _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.05, "Nightwalkers." During that episode, SG-1 discovered small town was being controlled by immature Goa'uld symbiotes during the night as part of a reckless NID operation to get their hands on Goa'uld technology. The operation was compromised when one of the NID agents was infested by a symbiote. The Goa'uld nearly escaped from the town, and would have quickly infiltrated the government, if not for quick thinking and action on the part of Sam Carter. 
> 
> For reference, Lorne's first appearance in _Stargate_ comes in episode 7.07, "Enemy Mine."

Evan sat down at the counter, eager for a breakfast that didn't consist of cafeteria food at Nellis. (Admittedly, Nellis's food wasn't as bad as all that, but it was still _cafeteria food_.) This diner had been the discovery of a lifetime: not only were the pancakes as good as any he'd had short of his mom's, the rest of the menu was nothing to sneer at. Plus, they took 'service with a smile' as more than just a catchy motto.

"What can I get for you today, Evan?" asked Rachel. The middle-aged but still fairly attractive woman was right at home behind the counter. She had three kids, the oldest nearing college age, and her husband was an overworked, underpaid CPA who worked down the street. She reminded him a bit of his sister, and in all the right ways.

"Let's be different this morning and go with a ham and cheese omelet with a side of hash browns and sausage." He favored her with a winning smile, which she returned with equal grace.

"Coming right up, flyboy!" she laughed, disappearing into the kitchen.

It was too early for the big breakfast rush crowds; there were only two other patrons, both regulars Evan knew by sight, if not by name: a slender, dark-haired young woman (he thought she might be a student at UNLV) and a pudgy retiree wearing his usual uniform of khaki shorts and a garish polo. Then Evan spotted a third man, a stranger, in the corner booth, sitting stiffly and eating mechanically, as if half-asleep. This was Vegas, after all, so it wasn't as if strangers were unusual... but there was something about him that just didn't seem right with Evan.

The man was wearing a black suit and tie that wouldn't have been out-of-place on a federal agent, but his clothes were rumpled and dirty, as if he'd been wearing them for days.

Then Evan realized that the man was staring at him. Not at his face, but at his Air Force uniform, and with an expression that was equal parts cold calculation and utter disdain.

Evan frowned, eying the man warily. Then the stranger looked up, locking gazes with him. As the little hairs on the back of Evan's neck stood up on end, he realized something was _definitely_ wrong here.

Chuckles stood, not taking his eyes off Evan, who wondered in alarm what was going on. Who was this guy, and what was his problem? Just then, the door to the diner swung open, the bell jangling noisily.

"Stop right there," an authoritative voice ordered. Chuckles froze and turned towards its source: three _more_ black-suited men stood in the doorway, guns drawn and at the ready, and all pointed at Chuckles. "Put your hands on your head _slowly_ and get down on your knees," commanded their leader, a man who looked like he'd stepped out of some federal agent mold in a dark basement in D.C.

Evan saw Chuckles tense a moment before he sprang. The Men in Black weren't so lucky; he charged them with superhuman speed. Only two managed to get shots off before he reached them, but their bullets didn't seem to slow him at all. He sent the leader flying through the air to crumple against the wall as the two stunned regulars dove for cover. Chuckles pummeled the other two Men in Black with all the bone-crushing savagery of a linebacker hopped up on PCP, smashing both men to the ground.

He had to act - Chuckles was distracted, turned away from him. Evan grabbed the opportunity to catch him in a sleeper hold, wrapping his arm around the attacker's neck. Chuckles flailed, but even the strongest man couldn't fight for long without oxygen. It ended in seconds with him slumping to the floor, unconscious.

The entire confrontation occurred in less than a minute.

"What's going on here?" Rachel demanded, coming out of the kitchen. "I'm calling the cops- Oh, my God!" She saw the pile of men on the floor, Evan kneeling over them to check their vitals. "What happened, Evan?"

"Well," he said, standing up and dusting his hands, "This guy here just beat the crap out of the other three, who I'm _pretty_ sure're here to take him into custody."

"Don't... call the cops. My... people... will handle this. And stay... away... from him," groaned the leader of the Men in Black, who was slowly climbing to his feet. "He's... very dangerous."

"And unconscious," Evan pointed out, casting a wary eye at the incapacitated Chuckles.

"He won't stay that way for long. You don't know how lucky you were. Who're you?" the other man asked, wincing in pain but recovering quickly. Now that Evan had a chance to get a good look at him, the fellow seemed younger than Evan had thought, probably only in his early to mid-thirties, with short brown hair and light-colored eyes.

"Captain Evan Lorne, United States Air Force. Who're you?" demanded Evan. Fair is fair.

"Agent Malcolm Barrett, NID. And I _told_ Hammond that they didn't need to send anyone down here. The situation is under control." Barrett glared in annoyance as he quickly cuffed and secured Chuckles and began to check over his unconscious comrades, who looked worse off than they probably were.

"With all due respect, Agent Barrett, 'under control' isn't exactly the term I'd use to describe what happened here." Evan wondered, for the second time, what he had stepped into. This was getting more like _Men in Black_ by the second. And what the hell was the NID, anyway? That was one alphabet soup agency he'd never heard of. "And, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea Hammond is. I just came in here for breakfast when Chuckles here decided he didn't like the way I looked."

Barrett did a sudden double-take, palpable embarrassment flushing his freckled face. "You're from Nellis, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm from Nellis. Where'd you think I be from?" asked Evan waspishly, though he was, quite frankly, curious.

"Never mind," Barrett replied all too quickly. "Thank you for your assistance, Captain Lorne." Barrett looked up at Rachel and the two patrons, who stared back at him in shock at the bizarre chain of events that had just unfolded. "Nothing to see here, folks. I suggest you finish your breakfast and let us do our jobs."

By now, the two other Men in Black began to stir, wincing and moaning quietly as the pain from the injuries registered; one made the mistake of touching his nose, which was clearly broken, and the other stared dazedly up with an unfocused gaze. Barrett pulled a cell phone from his jacket and hit a few numbers. "We got him. Send another unit to my location to assist with extraction. Have medics standing by for injuries," he said quietly.

Within ten minutes, everything was cleared up, and there was no sign that anything strange or unusual had happened in the diner. Evan wouldn't be surprised if there would be denials all around, too.

It had that Roswell feel to it.


	5. An Exciting New Career Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne is summoned to a mysterious meeting in the Pentagon to discuss his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: At least three months prior to the start of _Stargate: SG-1_ season 7.

There are some things in life that all the years of officer's training, combined with experience that earns you the rank of major in the United States Air Force, cannot prepare you for. Most people would immediately think 'falling in love' is one of these things.

They'd be right, but another one is discovering exactly what 'exciting new career opportunity' you had been nominated for, by whom no one really knows (or is willing to admit, at least). Such was the case with recently-promoted Major Evan Lorne when he was told to report to the Pentagon for an interview with one Major Paul Davis. According to his orders, Davis was a 'Pentagon liaison officer,' though no one would say with whom he was liaising. 

Strangely enough, Evan actually knew Davis, at least slightly. Davis had been a year ahead of him at the Air Force Academy; he had always struck him as taking everything far too seriously, treating every responsibility like a vital black-ops mission to protect national security. While this made Davis utterly reliable and trustworthy, it made him seem like a real stick in the mud, and even downright annoying, to the far more easy-going, even relaxed, Evan Lorne. 

Evan hadn't heard from Davis since graduation, so he was surprised when he received his orders. What had Davis gotten into? And what was he trying to drag Evan into? And, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, why?

So, at 0930 on a Monday morning, Evan found himself shaking hands with Major Davis, who hadn't changed much (okay, he hadn't changed at all) from his stiff Academy self. A little older, obviously; hairline receding a tiny bit, perhaps, but he had the same sharp gaze and serious posture. Evan wasn't even a bit surprised when Davis passed him a folder stamped 'Top Secret' - it was simply being true to form. 

"I know you're probably curious as to the nature of the Program to which you've been recommended," Davis remarked. His blue eyes were bright as they drilled into Evan's head, as if peering into his brain and reading his thoughts. It was more than a little disconcerting.

"Yes, Major," Evan replied neutrally. "And, with all due respect, who recommended me."

Davis offered the barest shadow of a raised eyebrow. "Anything you learn today is classified Top Secret and is to be repeated to no one without the authorization of the Joint Chiefs." The Pentagon major paused briefly to let that sink in. Typical. "Also, this program is strictly voluntary. I _can_ tell you that it is extremely dangerous, but I think you'd agree that the risks we undertake are well worth the rewards."

"If I may speak frankly?" Evan asked, suppressing a sigh. He'd done 'classified' before, but Davis was really laying it on thick.

"Of course, Major Lorne."

"Isn't that just a tiny bit cliche?"

"In this case, it's simply the truth," Davis asserted, his expression deadly serious. "Major Lorne, I can't stress enough how important this program is to the future of our country. We need good men, like you, to ensure that future." He gestured to the folder on the desk. Leaning forward, his face softened, revealing the 'Paul' behind the 'Major Davis.' "Look it over. You may not appreciate this now, but once you join the program, you'll never see things quite the same way again."

Oh, though Evan, his body growing just a bit cold as he observed that peculiar, distant glint in Davis's eyes. _He actually means it._ Opening the folder, he found a document that seemed to reflect Davis's penchant for melodrama, listing all sorts of doom that would fall on his head should he breach the security of the Program.

What 'Program'? What were the black ops boys up to, anyway? Evan smiled inwardly. Curiosity had always been one of his defining traits, though he had the common sense to temper it. His eyes flickered over the bare black text of the document, trying to work out what they were hiding behind their promises of doom. Davis waited patiently, saying nothing as Evan pondered his decision.

He'd made such leaps of faith before, deciding whether or not to go on missions before hearing all the details. There was something about this, though. Evan could feel it in his gut, sense it in the way Davis addressed him. Something special. 

He barely glanced up before Major Davis held out a pen, a wry smile on his face. "Welcome to the greatest adventure of them all," he said with a boyish expression of glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the ages of both Kavan Smith and Colin Cunningham, it seems reasonable that Lorne and Davis would have been at the Air Force Academy around the same time.


	6. Welcome to Stargate Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Evan's first day with the Stargate Program. He's taken the grand tour. He's just feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Late season 6 for _Stargate: SG-1_

This place could not _possibly_ be real.

Evan sat in the mess hall, poking at his food; Davis had warned him that the reality of Stargate Command could be a bit overwhelming. Evan had thought that he was exaggerating in his usual fashion. _Nope, Evan, wrong again!_ Nestled securely below NORAD was another facility, one that defied imagination.

It was as if someone demonstrated that _The Lord of the Rings_ was actually a history book instead of a work of brilliant fiction. He'd never felt this dazed even when pulling multi-G acrobatics in a jet. His entire world had been turned on its head in the space of a few hours.

The United States Air Force was engaging in missions to other planets. Throughout the galaxy. And it had been doing so for almost _six years_. _Six years_ of exploring the galaxy and fighting back against megalomaniacal body-snatching aliens who'd like nothing better than to enslave the planet or bombard it back into the Stone Age.

"All right if I sit here?" asked a youngish man with short sandy-colored hair, wearing standard green BDU pants and a black T-shirt. His tray of food was packed with a sampling of just about everything on today's menu. Glancing about, Evan saw a number of empty tables, so it was probably conversation the newcomer was after. Evan wasn't sure if he could put two words together in a coherent fashion.

"Sure, go ahead," he managed.

"You're new here, aren't you? I'm Jonas Quinn." He extended his hand across the table. Evan shook it firmly, noting the the other man didn't try to turn the greeting into an arm-wrestling competition.

"Major Evan Lorne. I guess it must be pretty obvious that I'm new," Evan remarked wryly. He'd been noticing the SGC personnel's less-than-covert glances that ranged from amusement to pity.

Jonas grinned cheerfully as he slid into the seat across from him. "You do have that sort of dazed look most people get after the ten-cent tour. Don't worry about it. You should've seen _my_ face the first time I saw the Stargate. It was..." he raised his eyebrows expressively, "...a bit overwhelming."

"So, what do _you_ do around here?" Evan asked curiously.

"Me? Oh, I'm a member of SG-1," replied Jonas, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "We're at the front lines of exploration and first contact. It's really amazing stuff, Major - you're lucky to be here."

Evan frowned a bit, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not military, though, are you? You don't have the look."

"Me?" Jonas laughed. "Oh, no, no way. I'm just the go-to guy for translating alien languages and other things. I'm a quick study. Of course, having an entire office of reference material helps a lot, too! Any idea what team you're going to be on?" he asked inquisitively around a dinner roll.

"Not sure yet. Honestly, I'm just a pilot. I mean, I've done some classified work before, but this...! Wow."

"You're a pilot, huh?" the sandy-haired man paused briefly, his fork hovering above his pork roast. "Then you're probably going to be joining the 302 squadron they're putting together. If you get a chance, you should talk to Colonel O'Neill or Major Carter. They've got the most hands-on experience with the 302s. Actually, that's them over there."

Jonas gestured with his fork to the pair who just entered the mess hall. One was a moderately tall, grey-haired officer with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy blue BDUs, and his companion was a blonde woman probably a few years Evan's senior. (Her BDUs were definitely _not_ baggy, Evan noted appreciatively.) They seemed to be arguing - or, more accurately, Major Carter seemed to be expounding on something very complicated and technical while the colonel's face went from blank confusion to impatience.

"Carter!" O'Neill held up a hand to forestall anything more on her part. "Bottom line?"

The blonde looked back at her team leader sheepishly. Evan couldn't hear her reply over the clatter and murmur of the other diners, but whatever it was didn't make O'Neill happy, because the both of them turned and walked back out the way they came.

"Guess it wasn't a good time," Jonas noted wryly. "Anyway, if you do go into the 302 program, you probably won't be spending much time around _here_."

"And I don't even know how I ended up here in the _first_ place!" Evan remarked.

Jonas shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, that's one question to which I really don't know the answer. I got here under rather special circumstances, myself, so I'm no help to you there. Don't worry! Once you get used to the idea of using an ancient alien artifact to travel to other world through a wormhole, everything else just kinda... falls into place," he said reassuringly. "Some things are still weird, even to the rest of us, too, so don't let them give you too hard a time."

"Anything in particular you'd care to share?" asked Evan curiously, leaning forward in his chair.

Jonas thought a moment, then grinned broadly. "Well, just after I joined SG-1, this Goa'uld mothership showed up in orbit and just sat there. No attack, no communication, it was just kinda... sitting there. So, we called up our friends the Tok'ra, and Jacob - that's Major Carter's dad - he came to help us out with a cargo ship so we could get up to the mothership and figure out what was going on. It was my very first time in space, actually. It was amazing! _Any_ way, it turns out that the Goa'uld that the ship belonged to had _seriously_ underestimated the brainpower of an Asgard. Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet, he'd been captured by Anubis- anyhow, Thor had actually used his mental connection with the ship while Anubis was interrogating him to move in and make himself at home. Major Davis was actually the first person to realize something was up with the intercom system. You know, it's weird, I don't even know why he was with us, since he usually works at the Pentagon..."

Evan's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Jonas's story had started out confusing, and had gotten progressively stranger (did the man even stop to breathe once?!), but this was just too much. "Major Davis? Not Major _Paul_ Davis?" he said in disbelief. He had a hard time imagining Davis in any setting other than an office. Maybe this was a different Major Davis? It was a pretty common name, after all.

"That's the one!" Jonas nodded brightly, dashing that theory and perplexing Evan even more. "You know, for all his being a paperpusher, Colonel O'Neill seems to like him. Well, he's not a bad guy, in my book, either. He's the one that cleaned up the audio so we could figure out that it was Thor's voice on the intercom. Anyway, I was left on the cargo ship with Teal'c for most of the mission, just us two aliens..."

_Wait. One. Second._ "You're an alien?"

The other man shrugged, a helpless smile dancing across his face. "Well, more or less human, but I wasn't born on Earth any more than Teal'c was, and he really _is_ an alien." Jonas gestured with his fork. "Say, are you going to eat that Jell-O?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incident Jonas relates occurred in _SG-1_ episode 6.03, "Descent."


	7. Falling With Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne, selected as a pilot for the new squadron of F-302s, undergoes training in Antarctica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Prior to _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle."

The snowy landscape slid by beneath him, brilliantly beautiful. Evan had never really thought about Antarctica as beautiful before, but his time training at McMurdo had given him the opportunity to ponder the dazzling landscape.

He was surrounded by incredible formations of ice and rock, shades of greys and browns, whites and subtle blues he never knew existed. Evan's fingers itched to put paint to canvas, but he was forced to satisfy himself with graphite and paper (very poor substitutes as far as he was concerned).

"You awake up there, Major?" Lieutenant Banks's voice crackled in his ear. Evan could hear his CSO's grin in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm here," he replied, checking his instruments. The F-302 was the most amazing aircraft he'd ever flown; relatively compact and ridiculously maneuverable, it was capable of both atmospheric and space flight - something unheard of only a decade ago. Plus, its railguns were far superior to anything else on planet Earth, capable of propelling a slug at a speed of Mach five at a distance of 250 miles, not to mention the complement of specially enhanced AIM 120A air-to-air missiles.

Of course, armaments were all well and good, but what impressed him the most about this aircraft was the inertial dampening system. He barely felt any Gs at all as he pulled into a twist. A 302 pilot could perform utterly ridiculous aerial acrobatics with total ease, leaving other aircraft sputtering in his wake. One of the reasons they were training in Antarctica was so no one could see them sky-hopping like this!

Evan was _definitely_ going to track down whoever recommended him for the Program and buy them a beer sometime, because this was _cool_. Any pilot he knew would kill to get into the cockpit of a 302, and here he was, one of the first to fly it outside of a simulator!

He heard Banks chuckling from his seat in the back of the cockpit. He was barely more than a kid (he made _Evan_ feel old, and that was impressive), and was among those few recruited to the Stargate Program straight from the Academy, though you wouldn't know it to listen to him. He'd been in the air more times than he could count since he was old enough to walk, and had as much confidence as any veteran pilot.

"You feel like you can take anything on with this baby, don't you, Major?" Banks said, reading Evan's thoughts.

"Hell, yeah," grinned Evan, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The high was insane, and he had to work hard to keep it from going to his head... too much, at least. "The simulator is one thing, but flying a bird like this in real life...!"

"You're telling me, Major! I keep telling my brother, people who don't want to fly are crazy!" Banks remarked cheerfully.

"Yeah? And what does your _brother_ think, Banks?"

"Oh, he just smiles and nods and assures me for the hundredth that he's just fine on the ground, thank you very much!" his CSO replied with a laugh. "You want to try something a little more exciting, Major?"

"You're kidding, right?" Evan challenged the cocky man in the back seat as he pulled on the stick.

...

_"Grandpa, tell me the story about Papa Bear again!" little Evan begged as he plopped down on his grandfather's lap._

_His grandfather chuckled indulgently. "What, again? Oh, if you insist, Evan!"_

_He settled into storytelling mode, his eyes alight and sparkling with good cheer. "Once upon a time, there was a great war covering all the world. In the middle of all the fighting, there was a brave and clever pilot called Papa Bear. The bad guys hated him more than any other pilot, because he always knew where to drop his bombs to mess up their plans. One day, the bad guys finally shot down Papa Bear's plane. He managed to jump to safety, but the bad guys captured him. Now the bad guys, they thought they could keep Papa Bear locked up in prison, where he couldn't cause any more trouble for them. But Papa Bear was cleverer than they thought, and every night he and his friends would sneak out of prison-"  
_

Evan shook his head in confusion. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his brain of the cobwebs. Distantly, he heard alarms, and someone was yelling in his ear. "Wha...?" he mumbled, completely disoriented. He was sure there was something important he was supposed to be doing.

"EJECT!" he suddenly heard clearly in his ear, the desperate order breaking through the fog.

Years of training drummed into his brain took hold. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled the ejection release.

The doomed F-302 fell away beneath him, exploding in a massive fireball when it collided with the snowy rocks a moment later. Dimly, he realized that he wasn't nearly high enough for the parachute to deploy fully. He was coming down hard.

" _Oh, God_ ," he had time to think, and then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G-LOC, or G-force induced Loss Of Consciousness, has been known to produce brief but vivid dreams. G-LOC is a real and potentially fatal phenomenon, especially at low altitudes, even to trained and experienced pilots. Unfortunately for Lorne, his inertial dampeners failed at a most inconvenient moment.
> 
> "CSO" means "Combat Systems Officer." The CSO sits in the rear seat of a two-man fighter jet and is responsible for in-flight operations, navigation, and electronic warfare. Folks familiar with the TV shows _JAG_ and _NCIS_ might be more familiar with the term "RIO" ("Radar Intercept Officer," also called a GIB for "Guy In Back"), which serves a similar function with Navy fighters.
> 
> Anyone familiar with _Hogan's Heroes_ should find the story of Papa Bear very familiar, indeed!


	8. Broken Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his F-302 training accident in Antarctica, Lorne is transferred back to the States to evaluate his recovery and future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During Stargate: SG-1 episode 6.22, "Full Circle."
> 
> In "Enemy Mine," Lorne is a run-of-the-mill one-shot supporting character. He mostly serves as exposition and we don't really get the opportunity to learn much about him until he shows up again as a recon/assault team leader (and Sheppard's second in command) on Atlantis. How _did_ he go from a rock finder to the Evan Lorne we know and love? Unfortunately, we never actually learned the answer to that question during either _SG-1_ or _Atlantis_ , and it nagged at me for quite awhile.

Evan couldn't remember being pulled out of the mangled remains of the 302 cockpit. Despite ejecting, the parachutes were unable to deploy in time to do much to arrest the fall, and Evan had paid the price. Fortunately, they hadn't been more than a few miles out of McMurdo when they went down. The rescue helicopters had arrived bare minutes after the crash.

Banks, the lucky bastard, had escaped with only a few bruises; the front of the cockpit had taken the brunt of the damage from the impact with the rocks. The front of the cockpit, and Evan, that is.

His first memory after the crash was waking up somewhere, feeling as if his entire body had been crushed by a steamroller. He wanted to scream, but the most he could manage was a tiny agonized whimper. There was an abrupt chatter of voices, speaking what might as well have been gibberish. Tears of pain squeezed past his eyelids before everything faded into a muffling darkness.

As soon as he was stable, they'd medevacced him back to the States. He spent the entire long flight in a drugged stupor.

When he finally regained consciousness again, he felt like he was floating and comfortably wrapped in puffy clouds. His body was far away, the pain a distant thing he couldn't quite feel. Blinking lazily, he looked out a nearby window and realized vaguely that he knew where he was. It took him a long while to put a name to the place, but he eventually tagged it as the Air Force Academy Hospital near Colorado Springs.

He hadn't been here in years, he thought muzzily. Not since he needed stitches after getting whacked on the head by that flying beer bottle...

Time was a funny thing in his state. At some point, he thought his parents came by. Maybe? He might have dreamed it. There was a whole procession of doctors and nurses and people he really didn't care about because his brain was made of cotton balls.

Then the pain came back. It was more of a full-body ache, rather than acute agony, but it was definitely unpleasant all the same. Evan grunted softly as he opened his eyes. He coughed weakly - his throat felt as dry as the Sahara after a drought.

"Here, drink this. Careful, now, Major, you don't want to accidentally inhale it." The cool liquid that trickled into his mouth was better than anything he'd ever tasted, despite the fact that he was pretty sure it was just water. The thankful smile he gave the nurse was probably fairly pathetic, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Now, Major, I know it hurts right now," she said reassuringly, "but the general wanted to talk to you. He'll be just a few minutes, and then I'll be right back with more painkillers."

As the door opened, the nurse shot stern look at the bald officer who walked in. It took Evan a moment to recognize him: General Hammond, commanding officer of Stargate Command. He'd only met the general a few times while training at the SGC before his deployment to McMurdo, but what he'd seen, he'd liked.

"Don't worry, Nurse, I won't be long," Hammond assured her firmly.

As the nurse left, Evan wished he could at least sit up better. Saluting was well beyond his abilities at this point. " _Sir_ ," he rasped hoarsely.

"Save your strength, Major," General Hammond held up his hand to forestall him doing anything more. "I had them dial down the meds so you could have a clear head for a few minutes."

Evan sighed, closing his eyes briefly as a stand-in for nodding.

"You were in a very serious accident, Major, and while I've been assured that the odds are good that you're going to make a complete recovery, you'll be out of the 302 program, for a while, at least."

Evan inhaled sharply before releasing it in a long, shuddering breath as he fought off a wave of uncharacteristic bitterness.

It made sense. It was to be expected.

Despite all the technological advances that went into the F-302s, piloting those babies was physically and mentally challenging. Even with what little he'd assessed of his injuries so far, he was neither too proud nor too stupid to admit that he probably wouldn't be in any shape to fly for a while. They couldn't save his spot in a coveted program while he took months, if not longer, to recover from his injuries.

Hammond smiled sympathetically. "I've been where you are now, so believe me when I say that I know how you feel, Major. I know this is a setback for you, but I'd like you to consider an alternative."

Evan's eyes narrowed curiously as he wondered what the general thought would interest a grounded fighter jock.

"You have a background in geology, Major, and you might be surprised to hear that we actually have a need for someone with your expertise." No doubt the general picked up that little tidbit by reading Evan's file; some generals apparently enjoyed the light reading that accompanied reviewing potential personnel additions, though Evan suspected that his own file was pretty bland compared to some. Geology had always been something of a hobby to him, though a hobby he'd nearly made a career of. (Probably would have been safer, in retrospect.)

"SG-11 under Colonel Edwards is tasked with geological surveying to locate sources of the mineral naquadah," General Hammond continued. "It's essential that we find and extract as much of the mineral as possible so we can build ships to protect Earth from the Goa'uld and other potential threats. We need as many eyes on this as we can, but as I'm sure you're aware, operational security is an issue here. And most of your duties would be light and not tax your recovery too much."

A geological survey expedition didn't exactly strike Evan as particularly exciting (one of the reasons he decided to become a fighter pilot rather than a geologist). On the other hand, he weighed, it meant the chance to step through the Stargate and actually visit _another planet_. Plus, it would keep him in the Stargate Program; he might even be able to get back to flying 302s at some point. And he'd be able to do some good, too, helping to find that magic rock that powered pretty much everything the SGC needed.

"Think about it, Major. Obviously, you'll need to get back on your feet and be cleared by Doctor Fraiser before you go off-world, but I'm sure you'll do just fine," General Hammond smiled paternally. On another man, Evan thought, the expression might come across as patronizing, but not him. Hammond was as honest and straight-forward as they come.

Even before the nurse came back to restore that wonderful floaty feeling, Evan realized that he had already decided that he would take Hammond up on his offer.

Who knows? Maybe the naquadah they found would go into his next F-302.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The naquadah-hunting expedition to which Hammond refers is, of course, where viewers first meet Lorne, in episode 7.07, "Enemy Mine".


	9. A View from the Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne gets an interesting view on the SGC from his hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle." Daniel Jackson, having ascended to join the Ancients at the start of season 6, visits Jack O'Neill at the SGC to give him a very important (and apparently urgent!) mission to locate the Eye of Ra on Abydos. Jack is understandably annoyed that his friend, who is a great and powerful being, can't actually do anything to help them. And when Daniel does try to intervene, Oma steps in to stop him. Nothing is known about his fate for two months.

As soon as Evan was coherent enough to make the request, he asked to be moved to the infirmary at the SGC. Not, of course, because he enjoyed windowless rooms more than twenty floors underground, but because it would make his studying much easier.

He couldn't expect to ask for geological surveys of other planets, or a detailed mineralogical analysis of naquadah, to be delivered to his room at the Air Force Academy Hospital, after all. And if he was going to go on a exoplanetary survey mission, he was going to be damned sure that he knew what he was looking for. (Plus, to be honest, his geology was a little rusty. He'd spent the last dozen or so years flying thousands of feet _above_ the rocks, after all.)

And from his semi-permanent posting in his bed, he got a rather unusual, and definitely enlightening, perspective on the SGC.

He got a first-hand view of many of the SG teams getting medical check-ups after returning from missions, and it wasn't always pretty. One time, a team stumbled in soaking wet, half-carrying a guy who had a grotesque, pulsating giant leech attached to his leg. The man in question was pasty white and looked about two seconds from losing his head and screaming his lungs out, or simply fainting.

_Yes, join the SGC! Visit distant planets! Meet indigenous people and discover exotic wildlife!  
_

Clearly, fun times.

Of course, there was the normal procession of headaches, cuts, bruises, sprains, broken bones, and alien sex pollen. (That last one made for a truly awkward scene, with the SG team trying to throw themselves on the medical staff while the SFs did their best to hold them down.)

There were, naturally, some regular visitors to the infirmary. One was a SGC's chief Stargate hardware technician, a master sergeant named Siler, who was in twice on Evan's first day. It wasn't that Siler was clumsy - he was just unbelievably unlucky.

After Siler suffered from a nasty electrocution (something to do with a wrench, an open power conduit, and a ditzy scientist, apparently), he was told quite firmly by the totalitarian autocrat in charge (a petite 5'2" redhead named Fraiser who Evan faithfully swore never to cross) that he would be staying overnight for observation.

Late in the day, when most people were going home for the night, another NCO came to visit Siler. Evan remembered him from his brief tour at the SGC: Master Sergeant Walter Harriman. Harriman reminded Evan more than a little of Radar O'Reilly from the old TV show _M*A*S*H_ , if Radar were a bit older, balder, and had a sense of humor drier than a June day at Nellis. He'd always been there with some obscure form that no one knew was necessary, or some sort of distraction just when you thought your head was going to explode.

Evan, exhausted and a little bored, was more than happy to sip his water and eavesdrop on their conversation, which seemed to revolve around another man named 'Dr. Jackson.' The name sounded familiar to Evan, but he couldn't quite place it. Was he one of the doctors? Maybe a civilian scientist?

Whoever he was, he'd apparently caused them a lot of trouble recently before abruptly vanishing. Which was, it seemed, just as annoying as it was concerning. All in all, it was a pretty confusing conversation.

As Harriman was leaving, Evan called him back.

"Major Lorne. What can I do for you, sir?" he asked. Somehow, Evan was completely unsurprised that Harriman remembered his name at the drop of a hat.

"Yeah, Sergeant... I don't mean to be rude, but couldn't help but hear you and Sgt. Siler talking about a guy named Jackson, and I was wondering... who is he?"

Harriman didn't seem at all upset by Evan's shameless eavesdropping. "Dr. Jackson? He's... something of a legend around here, sir. He's the guy who figured out the Stargate in two weeks, when the biggest brains at the Pentagon had spent two _years_ on it. Plus, he speaks more than twenty languages and negotiated Earth's entry into the Asgard Protected Planets Treaty," explained the bespectacled sergeant.

"Huh. I didn't meet him when I was here taking the nickel tour. What happened to him?" Evan asked curiously, sipping at his cup of water.

"He died, sir. Last year. We weren't not too worried, though; he's done it before. Personally, a lot of us were sure he'd be back again at some point," Harriman replied with a casual shrug.

Evan inhaled cold water. Sputtering and coughing somewhat violently, he managed to set his cup down on the table without sloshing too much onto his hands and lap.

"You okay, sir?" solicitously inquired Sergeant Harriman, offering him a towel to wipe his hands. He seemed more concerned about Evan's health than the insanity of his previous statement.

"Yeah," Evan hoarsely replied. He finally controlled the spasms, which painfully twinged his still-tender chest. "Yeah, I'm good. Did you say that Dr. Jackson's _died_ before, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct," Harriman affirmed. He said it as casually as if he were claiming that Dr. Jackson had merely gone grocery shopping and would be back after lunch.

"Dead. As in..."

"As in _dead_ , sir," nodded the sergeant.

Evan stared dubiously at Harriman, trying to decide if the sergeant were pulling his leg in some sort of 'Welcome to Stargate Command' hazing ritual. That sort of thing wasn't exactly uncommon in the armed forces, after all. "Right..."

"People don't always stay dead around here, sir. You get used to it after awhile. We've learned to keep the proper forms on hand, especially when it comes to SG-1. Dr. Jackson himself been killed or presumed dead something like half a dozen times already. And we knew from right off the bat that he didn't stay dead this last time, either."

It was absolutely impossible to tell if the man were joking or not. His expression was completely neutral, so he either had the best poker face Evan had ever seen, or he was indeed serious.

( _Or both_ , Evan conceded.)

"How do you know he didn't stay dead?" Part of him couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. It was, quite frankly, totally ludicrous.

"When he died, Dr. Jackson transformed into a being of energy and ascended to another plane of existence," was Harriman's matter-of-fact explanation.

_Naturally. Of course. That makes total sense, after all. Silly me._

Evan opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to formulate a reply to that statement. "So..." he finally managed, "you actually believe that one day Dr. Jackson's just going to... walk in the front door?"

"It's... a bit more complicated than that, sir. He already came back once, but he's gone again. There's an unofficial betting pool about where he's going to turn up again. Most money's on that they're going to run into him on another planet," Harriman remarked. "Personally, I'm holding out for the general's office."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By this point, Daniel's well on his way to establishing his role as the Kenny of Stargate. He was killed, nearly killed, and/or presumed dead in: Stargate (the movie), "Fire and Water," "The Nox," "The Serpent's Lair, Part III" "The Light," and "Meridian," at the very least, with an honorable mention for "Crystal Skull". This isn't taking into account the deaths of alternate Daniels in "There But For the Grace of God," "Point of View," or "2010," or that of the alien impostor in "Foothold" or the android double in "Double Jeopardy."
> 
> NCO means "non-commissioned officer" - NCOs (also called "non-coms") are the backbone of the armed forces. They supervise, train, and lead other enlisted servicemembers and are important sources of guidance and advice for junior officers.


	10. A Man Is the Sum of His Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne unexpectedly encounters someone while doing a little unauthorized after-hour physical therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.01, "Fallen." 
> 
> Daniel Jackson has been located on the planet Vis Uban, although he is missing his memories after being kicked out of the Oma Desala Fan Club. SG-1 brings Daniel back to the SGC with them while other SG teams search the Ancient ruins in the hopes of finding weapons with which to defeat Anubis. Daniel is given temporary quarters, filled with many personal possessions in the hopes that they might help restore his memory.

* * *

When he heard the door to the gym swing open, Evan grimaced with the knowledge that he'd been caught. Physical therapy was a real pain in the ass and he really wanted to be back on his feet _yesterday_ , but he was definitely _not_ supposed to be on the parallel bars unsupervised in the middle of the night. He resignedly maneuvered himself back into the wheelchair, expecting that he was probably about to be forcefully ejected. For his own good, naturally.

The person who entered was not one of the nurses (or worse, _Dr. Fraiser_ ) come to drag him back to bed, however. The newcomer was a good six feet tall and strongly built, with short brown hair, and bright blue eyes blinking from behind a pair of round glasses. He clutched what seemed to be a picture frame close to his body, though Evan couldn't tell what was in the frame. Trailing behind more like a friendly puppy than a guard was a cheerful (if somewhat bored-looking) SF, who lingered by the door as the man he was escorting wandered further in.

It wasn't hard for Evan to recognize the newcomer, given all the mission reports and documentation that Sgt. Harriman had helpfully provided him during his convalescence. That, and probably the entire base knew within about five minutes that their long-lost archaeologist/linguist/general pain-in-the-ass had once again returned from the dead (though apparently minus his memory).

"Dr. Jackson?" Evan asked with a friendly smile.

"So they tell me," the man replied dryly after a moment of surprise. He probably hadn't expected anyone to be here at this time of night. "Look, if you're looking for a happy reunion, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't remember a thing."

Evan shrugged, wheeling over to him. "You couldn't remember me, anyway, Dr. Jackson. I joined the Program after you, ah, left," he said diplomatically. "I'm Major Evan Lorne, with the SG-11 geological survey team - as soon as I get back on my feet, at least." Evan smiled ruefully as he adjusted his posture in the wheelchair. Hopefully, he'd be ditching the wheels permanently any day now. That would definitely be a relief.

"Nice to meet you, Major." Relief flooded Dr. Jackson's face as he extended his hand, which Evan shook. Dr. Jackson, who was taller than Evan was even when he _wasn't_ stuck in a wheelchair, sat down on a nearby weight bench so he wasn't towering over him (a gesture that Evan appreciated - it was awkward holding a conversation with someone while staring up their nose).

"I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I am to finally meet someone who _doesn't_ know me," Dr. Jackson admitted candidly. "It's, ah, really weird walking around here with everyone telling me how great it is to have me back when I don't even remember being here in the first place!"

"I can imagine! From what I can tell, you're pretty famous around here," agreed Evan as he wiped down his neck and face with a towel. His sweat-dampened T-shirt now clung uncomfortably to his back, but there wasn't anything he could do about that at the moment.

"So I've discovered." The amnesiac archaeologist frowned slightly. He really did look like someone's absent-minded professor. "Jim- no, Jack, _Jack_ \- he was talking about fighting some crazy aliens, so what's a geologist doing around here?"

"You know, a lotta people would be surprised," Evan shrugged. "We're searching for naquadah on other planets. Apparently, they use the stuff for pretty much everything. Ship hulls, power sources, things like that."

"Huh. You know, you don't strike me as a geologist type, Major," he remarked abruptly.

"Really? What, then?"

"I dunno. You're just... really outgoing." Dr. Jackson seemed confused by his own statement. Maybe he couldn't figure out why he'd think that geologists wouldn't be extroverts. (To be fair, it was something of a generic stereotype, but most of the scientists at the SGC tended to be at the extreme ends of the spectrum.)

Evan chuckled despite himself. He'd never live this one down if his sister ever found out. Good thing she was hundreds of miles away.

"What?" Dr. Jackson inquired blankly.

"My sister said something like that to me once. She pointed out that I like _people_ a lot more than I like _rocks_." He laughed again, shaking his head in mock deprecation. "Turns out she was right, because I ended up a jet jock, instead. Being a fighter pilot actually involves a lot more personal interaction than most people realize. I learned fast that things go a lot more smoothly when you get along with your back seat man and your ground crew."

"So, if you're a... fighter pilot, why are you with a geology team, then?"

Evan winced as the muscles in his legs started to cramp up slightly - he'd need to do something about that before getting back to bed. The pain wasn't entirely psychosomatic, unfortunately, and he had no desire to wake up completely crippled again. "Training accident," he explained as he shifted his weight a bit uncomfortably. "The inertial dampeners failed during a high-G maneuver, my CSO and I blacked out. By the time we came to, we had nearly hit the ground already. We ejected, but didn't have enough altitude for the chutes to properly deploy, so we came down hard. My CSO got lucky, walked away with only bruises. I, ah, wasn't so lucky."

"I'm sorry. That sounds... complicated," Dr. Jackson replied, his expression apologetically confused.

"Sorry, Dr. Jackson, that probably meant pretty much nothing to you," Evan said, flushing with embarrassment. "Suffice to say, I was hurt pretty badly, but General Hammond knew about my background in geology, so he offered me a spot with SG-11. Though, if I'm lucky, I might get to go back to flying again after my tour."

"I'm guessing that geology isn't your first love." He offered Evan a conciliatory smile. "Maybe I'll see you around, then."

"Probably. I'm stuck here at the SGC for awhile until I'm cleared by Doc Fraiser to go off-world," Evan explained.

"Fraiser... I think I met her earlier. Short woman, about yea high-" he held his hand to chest height, "-and makes everyone really nervous?"

"That's her," Evan laughed. He once overheard someone call her a Napoleonic powermonger, as apt a description of the base's chief medical officer as he'd ever heard. "Anyway... would you mind if I offered you some completely unsolicited advice? Though you can feel free to tell me where to shove it where the sun don't shine, if you like."

Dr. Jackson made a face at Evan's colorful description. "No, no, go ahead, Major."

"I'm no neurologist, but I can guess that it's gotta be frustrating being here with all these strangers who say they know you. Don't let us pressure you to remember. If it's gonna come back, it's gonna come back. This is about _you_ , not about _them_ ," Evan suggested gently.

The other man clutched more tightly at the picture frame in his hand. "Yeah," he sighed, before falling victim to a massive yawn. "Sorry about that," Dr. Jackson apologized.

"No need," Evan waved him off. "It's pretty late, and you _have_ just traveled hundreds of light years across the galaxy. A little jet lag is understandable. I should get some sleep myself." (And be grateful he managed to get some more time on the bars without getting caught, he admitted ruefully. The ache in his legs was worth it.)

"Guess I'll see you around then. Good luck with your..." he gestured vaguely around another yawn, "geological survey."

"Thanks, Doc. And good luck with your... tour." Evan nodded wryly towards the SF lurking by the door. The SF stared blandly back, as if he hadn't been totally listening in to the whole conversation.

"Hey, don't worry, Ross. I still like you," Daniel murmured (not _quite_ inaudibly) as Evan wheeled out the door towards the locker rooms.

"Thank you, sir. Much appreciated," the SF replied.


	11. The Martin-Baker Fan Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne attends a briefing for 302 pilots at the SGC. It's a bit uncomfortable for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.03, "Fragile Balance." Colonel O'Neill is kidnapped by the Asgard Loki and replaced with a teenaged clone, causing everyone to mistakenly believe that the colonel has been de-aged. O'Neill had been scheduled to give a briefing to the pilots of the new squadron of F-302s during the period of his abduction.
> 
> Had Lorne's 302 training gone according to plan, he would have been part of this squadron.

Technically, Evan didn't even need to attend this briefing. On paper, he was already assigned to SG-11, and, furthermore, still on the injured list. The crutches reinforced the awareness that he wouldn't be in a cockpit again for awhile yet, if ever. Maybe it was a bit masochistic of him, but he just wanted to be there for the squadron that would have been his.

As Evan gingerly hobbled into the briefing room, his eyes surveyed the pilots milling around. Most of them seemed painfully young, even to him: fighter jocks so new out of flight school that they were still secure in their sense of immortality. (He knew better than that now, only too well.)

These were the men that would make up the first full squadron of F-302s, the Snakeskinners.

"Major Lorne, sir!" a familiar voice called. Evan's heart leaped as he turned his head to see none other than Lieutenant Adam Banks make his way through the crowd. The younger officer looked none the worse for wear since the accident, and now proudly bore a Snakeskinners squadron rocker on the shoulder of his uniform.

"Banks, good to see you," Evan grinned. "You seem to be making out okay without me. I wasn't sure you'd even remember my name!"

Banks smiled cheekily as he came around to stand next to him. "Never gonna happen, sir. Didn't know if you were gonna show up today, but I'm sure glad to see you on your feet."

"What, and miss Colonel O'Neill lecturing these hotshots about dogfighting in a 302? Not on your life, Banks."

"I know what you mean, sir. He sure knows how to make it Army-proof, doesn't he?" Banks snickered.

The colonel's briefing during their 302 training had been as colorful and entertaining as it was informative. Evan had only seen O'Neill in passing since then, and doubted that he'd ever made much of an impression on the SGC's senior exploratory team leader. "Yeah, well, the colonel certainly knows how to own a room when he wants to," Evan noted.

"So, Major, I hear you're a member of the Martin-Baker Fan Club with Banks here," drawled an unfamiliar voice.

Banks winced slightly before plastering on a smile. "Major Lorne, this is Major Warner, our squadron leader."

So. This was the man who replaced him. Evan shifted on his crutches to face a tall man around his own age, though with enough gel in his hair to plaster it solid for a month. He held out his hand for Warner to shake, trying not to lean too heavily on his crutches as he did so. "Martin-Baker doesn't make the ejection system for the 302, Warner," he noted dryly.

"Close enough," Warner snorted. "It's hard luck for you, anyway. You're looking pretty good for it, all things considered. I hear you'll be joining the rock hunters off-world. Bring us back some more naquadah, will ya?"

Evan felt a surge of annoyance at the man; Warner was only commanding this squadron because of a stupid malfunctioning component of the inertial dampener of Evan's F-302, and Warner essentially been playing catch-up with the rest of the squadron. "That's the idea," Evan acknowledged with hard-pressed grace.

"Well, good luck with that, Lorne. Maybe I'll see ya around." With that just-short-of-supercilious farewell, Warner clapped Evan on the shoulder and rejoined the other pilots.

Banks sighed. "He's actually a good CO, sir," the lieutenant advised him staunchly. "It's just a bit of an adjustment after serving under you."

Evan raised an eyebrow at his former CSO. It wasn't entirely clear to him whether Banks meant it earnestly, or was simply sticking up for his new commanding officer. "You saying he's a better pilot than me, Lieutenant?" he teased.

"I, uh, decline to answer the question as it may significantly shorten my life expectancy, sir," Banks retorted, his eyes sparkling with humor. "One thing's for sure, sir: no matter how good a pilot you are, you're definitely _lucky_ , too."

"Well, yeah," Evan half snorted, half scoffed. "I could've ended up splattered across a fair-sized stretch of Antarctica. Along with _you_ , I might add, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir - that being said, you get to go to another _planet_ as soon as the docs clear you. Me and most of these guys probably won't see the inside of the SGC again, let alone step through the Gate," Banks pointed out. "And you may be grounded for now, but you'll be back in the air before you know it, sir."

At this point, however, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the person giving their briefing – not Colonel O'Neill, as they expected, but his second in command, Major Carter.

It was something of a surprise: Carter was a fully qualified pilot, of course (she'd apparently flown missions in the Gulf before coming to the SGC), but her true area of expertise lay in far more rarefied field. Evan had heard that there wasn't a bit of alien technology that came through the SGC that didn't first pass through her lab.

(He also wasn't afraid to admit, to himself at least, that she was hot. Really hot. And unlike some guys, he wasn't put off by her genius-level intelligence. It was almost too bad that he'd soon be heading hundreds of light years away.)

All in all, it was a little bit strange that Carter would be giving this briefing, rather than Colonel O'Neill. It was unlikely that the colonel had been called off-world, or else Carter and the rest of SG-1 would have been right there with him. It was possible, of course, that he was ill. Or he could have been summoned to a meeting with political mucky-mucks who didn't care about anyone's schedule but their own, though Evan suspected the colonel would sooner tell them where to shove it.

Lt. Banks shot him a questioning look, jerking his head in Carter's direction. All Evan could offer him was a helpless shrug as he moved towards a seat at the back of the room. Unfortunately, with Sgt. Harriman on leave, the rumor mill on base was sadly slow. No doubt they'd find out what was up at some point...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A member of the "Martin-Baker Fan Club" is someone who's ejected from an aircraft in an emergency, thereby saving his/her life. Martin-Baker is the company that makes ejection seats for many military aircraft. Lorne points out that he can't strictly speaking be considered a member of this group because the ejection system of the F-302 is not made by Martin-Baker. It's a petty distinction that would normally be ignored.


	12. So Much For First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne steps through the Stargate for the first time, off on his new assignment with SG-11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Between _Stargate: SG-1_ episodes 7.03, "Fragile Balance" and 7.04, "Orpheus."

Twenty-eight floors above, the sun was setting on Cheyenne Mountain, casting it into deepening shadows. Of course, where Evan was going, that wouldn't matter – apparently, it was the middle of the day on P3X-403. He wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to the time-shifting between the SGC and other planets. Fortunately, he wasn't going alone; SG-12 was going with him to the base camp to relieve SG-2 as the security detachment.

The guys from SG-12 barely seemed to acknowledge him as they waited in the Gateroom; maybe it was because they thought he was just another geologist joining the thus-far unfruitful naquadah survey. Then again, maybe it was because he was a fighter jock. Or maybe they felt uncomfortable because of the cane he leaned on ever-so-slightly. Everyone felt a little awkward when faced with the idea of their own human frailty.

Whatever the reason, it was a question for another time.

As the Gate spun up, Evan adjusted the weight of the pack on his shoulders and silently said his farewells to Earth for the next several months. An unconscious smile crossed his face as the unstable vortex burst forth and settled back into the shimmering "puddle." No matter how many times he saw it, an open wormhole really was an amazing, awe-inspiring sight as the astronomical blue-white energies rippled inside the large ring like so much water.

"First time through the Gate, sir?" Lt. Woeste asked, noticing Evan's expression.

"Huh-? Oh, yeah," he replied distractedly. He absently mused that it was a good thing he wasn't a physicist, else he'd be too consumed with the science to appreciate the sheer beauty of it all.

Woeste and his men shared a knowing chuckle. "It's a hell of a ride, sir, but you won't get there if you don't step through."

Evan glanced over his shoulder at the other men, who were staring back at him with what seemed to be amused impatience. "Oh, right."

 _"SG-12, Major Lorne, you have a go,"_ General Hammond said over the PA from the control room. _"Good luck with the survey, and bring us home some naquadah."_

"Yes, sir," Evan acknowledged before turning back to the open wormhole. "Okie-dokie, then," he muttered under his breath. "Here goes nothing." His heart pounding in his chest, he walked firmly up the ramp and stepped through the event horizon without any hesitation.

For the briefest fraction of a moment, he felt like he was falling. Then his boot connected with stone, and he stumbled forward into pale daylight, barely managing to keep from tumbling flat on his face thanks only to his cane stabilizing him.

The first thing Evan became conscious of was the aching, bone-deep chill. Then came the sudden rush of nausea. Fortunately, Evan managed to stagger almost drunkenly off to the side before he lost his dinner completely, vomiting into some undeserving plants. He vaguely heard the rippling sound of SG-12 arriving through the wormhole behind him, and he could feel their eyes on his him as he retched into the greenery. Their scrutiny prickled uncomfortably against his back.

"You alright, Major?" Lieutenant Woeste inquired with an air of almost aggrieved tolerance, obviously not too impressed with Evan's performance so far. It was easy for him to be so blasé about the whole experience.

Evan felt like an idiot as he cleaned the foul, acrid taste out of his mouth with water from his canteen. He'd been cautioned not to eat a lot before stepping through the Gate for the first time, but he'd completely forgotten the totally justified warning in his excitement. "Yeah," he replied finally, controlling his muscle spasms as much as he could. "Just peachy."

"Major Lorne, sir."

Evan straightened up on his cane. He hadn't even noticed the young, pointy-faced lieutenant who'd been waiting for them. The green-clad officer stared almost distractedly at him, as if he hadn't even noticed Evan's undignified display. The patch on his shoulder heralded him as a member of SG-11: one of Evan's new teammates. The man saluted him briskly, and Evan returned it with a slight grimace. So much for first impressions, it seemed.

"Welcome to P3X-403, sir. I'm Lieutenant Ritter, SG-11. I'm here to escort you to Base Camp. If you would follow me..."

* * *

Legs aching with the long hike from the Gate, Evan all but sighed with relief when he finally spotted the cheeky hand-carved wooden sign that read "Camp Moria: Beware Cave Trolls." After an early tragic incident involving the System Lord Nirrti, the SGC had elected not to post signs in front of the Gate advertising their presence for anyone who happened to be passing by. That, however, didn't stop some wiseguy from nailing his arts and crafts project to a tree right outside the camp, which was situated in a rocky but sheltered valley that, to Evan's keen eye, was almost certainly a long-extinct riverbed.

The thick surrounding forest wouldn't have been out of place in the Pacific Northwest, though the gray clouds hanging low overhead lent a mournful air to the place.

As Evan and SG-12 drew into camp, they were greeted by an aggrieved-looking officer wearing an SG-2 unit patch and a pinched expression.

"Major Griff," saluted Lieutenant Woeste. "SG-12 is here to relieve you."

"It's about time you guys got here," the older major said, eying Evan without the slightest apparent trace of curiosity once he caught sight of Evan's SG-11 patch. Evan was beginning to get the feeling that there wasn't a ton of respect for the geologists from the front-liners. "We've had a grand old time babysitting here. It's not like we had anything better to do, after all. And of course you show up after we finish moving the camp, leave all the work to us. You'd better have better luck finding naquadah here than at the last two sites." Griff looked impatiently over his shoulder. "Come on, boys, the cavalry's here! Grogan, get your rear in gear so we can get home in time for Christmas!" he shouted.

An harried-looking lieutenant (presumably the unfortunate Grogan) rushed out of one of the tents, struggling to pull on his pack, while two older airmen sauntered over in a far more leisurely fashion. One of them threw SG-12 a jaunty salute as they strolled casually past and up the path towards the Gate.

"Have fun," the major said dryly before following after them. "Grogan, how the hell did you ever make it into the SGC? Damn, I can't wait for a decent cup of coffee..." Evan heard Major Griff continue to complain distantly as SG-2 vanished into the covering trees.

"If you'll follow me," Ritter said, "Colonel Edwards wanted to see you as soon as you arrived." He gestured towards a canopy where two men were engaged in conversation; the younger fellow (one of the geologists, to judge by his jittery demeanor) seemed to be giving bad news to the older man, who was definitely not taking it well.

"Everyone around here in a bad mood?" Evan asked the lieutenant in a low voice.

Lt. Ritter sighed heavily. "I think it's the coffee, sir. It's terrible. We keep telling the SGC we need a new coffee maker, but I don't think they realize how bad the situation is."

"And the fact that we haven't found a significant naquadah deposit worth mining definitely isn't helping tempers, I'd imagine," Evan remarked. There was definitely a miasma of frustration in the air.

"No, sir," Ritter admitted honestly as he turned to precede them to the tent. "Anyway, it's good to have another set of eyes on all this. We're hoping this site will produce better results. This way, sir."

As the they approached the canopy, the timid fellow scurried out past them, shooting Ritter and SG-12 a nervous look. The older officer, whose close-cut curling hair wasn't yet graying but definitely receding from his forehead, heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Ritter," he acknowledged in a rough voice. Presumably, this was Colonel Martin Edwards, the commanding officer of SG-11.

"Sir," the lieutenant replied. "SG-12 has arrived to relieve SG-2. Also, our new TDY "

"Major Evan Lorne, sir," Evan identified himself respectfully.

Colonel Edwards glanced over Woeste and SG-12 before nodding approvingly. "Lieutenant Ritter, show these guys where to stow their gear. Take the major's pack, I want a word with him in private."

"Yes, sir." Ritter accepted the pack from Evan and led SG-12 out, leaving the two of them alone in the tent.

The colonel came out from behind his table to look him up and down appraisingly. Evan had dealt with hard-nosed COs before, and stood up straight against his scrutiny. He felt more than a little self-conscious as his new boss's eyes locked on the cane hanging loosely in his hand despite his aching legs.

"Welcome to P3X-403," Colonel Edwards said finally. "I hear that this is your first time to off-world, Major. First of all, it may _look_ like Earth, but this is _not Earth_. We don't have time to hand-hold greenhorns here, so don't do anything stupid. This is a geology team, not a search-and-rescue team, and our security detachment can only be so many places at once."

"Understood, sir," Evan replied neutrally.

"Also, you may still be recovering from an injury-" Colonel Edwards seemed intent on ignoring the presence of Evan's cane now that he had seen it, instead staring straight into Evan's face. "-but don't expect any coddling out here. This may be a temporary assignment for you, but it's a full-time job for us, Major, so I expect you to take it seriously. We need to find and extract as much naquadah as possible to send back to Earth. It could be the difference between life and death for the folks back home."

"Yes, sir," Evan acknowledged. The colonel's hostile attitude notwithstanding, his statement was accurate enough. One ship and a single squadron of F-302s would not be enough to protect the planet if a full Goa'uld armada showed up knocking at the front door. Earth desperately needed more ships, and more ships meant more naquadah, a lot more. Hyperdrive engines, power cores – seemingly every single bit of advanced technology Earth had co-opted and reverse-engineered required it to function.

Edwards raised a wary eyebrow, as if trying to determine if Evan's agreement was sincere or flippant. "Days here are a bit longer than on Earth. Chow's in about five hours. Find your bunk and catch some sleep before then – you look like crap, Major. Dismissed."

Evan suppressed a sigh. He had his work cut out for him, especially if he didn't want P3X-403 to be his personal antechamber to Purgatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "early tragic incident" with Nirrti is a reference to the first-season episode "Singularity," in which an SG team and an entire people were wiped out by Nirrti. 
> 
> All the named characters in this short appeared at one point or another on SG-1. Woeste, Ritter, and Edwards all appeared in Lorne's first episode, 7.07 "Enemy Mine." Griff still can't seem to escape babysitting science teams - he was stuck doing the same thing before SG-1 showed up to relieve him in the fourth-season episode "Prodigy." Grogan, despite Major Griff's impatience, had been with the SGC since his first appearance midway through season 5, the episode "Proving Ground."


	13. Life in the Wide World Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne, now part of SG-11, settles into life on P3X-403.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between _Stargate: SG-1_ episodes 7.04, "Orpheus," and 7.07, "Enemy Mine."

Evan slipped into life on P3X-403 with remarkable ease, surprising even himself. The novelty of living on another planet quickly wore off; P3X-403 really was very Earth-like, with only a slight increase in gravity and a couple extra moons that were only sometimes visible. Even the plants and trees looked like anything you could find back home.

Of more immediate importance to him was the possibility that the rest of SG-11 might resent him for showing up the way he did. To his surprise, though, most of them seemed nearly delirious with joy to have an extra set of trained eyes on the job - even those of a laid-up fighter pilot.

Colonel Edwards barked and snapped, repeatedly reminding Evan (and everyone else in earshot) that their grandchildren still wouldn't have enough naquadah to build a warship with the quantities they were finding, but Evan knew that he was merely externalizing the frustration they all felt.

More and more as the weeks passed, though, Evan found Edwards using him as a sort of buffer between him and the rest of his team, even to the point of treating him like a genuine second in command and not just a temp. Maybe because Evan was much more of a people person than Edwards, the colonel began to delegate a lot of the direct handling of the personnel at the camp to Evan.

It was an interesting, even eclectic and occasionally downright eccentric bunch.

Lt. Menard tended to bury himself with the latest mineralogical analyses well into the night, as if he expected to find a naquadah vein through sheer willpower alone. He acted as if everyone thought their current stagnation was his fault, and his timidity only served to annoy Colonel Edwards further. (The colonel might be unsociable, but he was _not_ stupid.)

It took Evan weeks to get Menard just to look at him when he was talking to him, a feat that was only accomplished because of Evan's naturally friendly and unintimidating demeanor.

Less aggravating (but definitely more troublesome) was Claire Montague; she looked like nothing so much as an oversized pixie, with her dainty figure and enormous eyes. She could easily be mistaken for a child if not for the curves that her plain BDUs did little to hide. For all that, though, she also came equipped with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. Despite being the only woman in the camp, no one dared approach her with intentions honorable or otherwise; one of Woeste's men learned this the hard way when he made a crude comment about his potential sexual prowess with such a small woman.

Claire, who had been with the Stargate Program for almost a year and had been on this survey mission since the start, was more than capable of dealing with such teenage idiocy.

She looked him up and down and smirked before replying that she would have a better luck finding the elusive naquadah deposits. Furthermore, she mentioned that her mother taught her many things: how to cook the perfect deviled eggs, how to make the best souffle ever, and how to brew a cup of tea which could make a man impotent for… who knows how long?

After that, they steered well clear of her. They got off lucky after a furious sexual harassment lecture delivered by Lt. Woeste. (Teammates or not, hundreds of light-years from home notwithstanding, that sort of behavior would not be tolerated.)

For her part, Claire shrugged and said that she was used to dealing with _children._

Evan was quietly relieved, though, when SG-13 replaced SG-12 after their two-week tour. Colonel Dixon and his men seemed to use the stint as an R&R break from their normal assignment of insanely dangerous front-line exploration. And Dr. Balinsky was also able provide some help pouring through the massive amounts of data that they collected. SG-13 was more than happy to share tales of their adventures out in the galaxy, though Evan suspected there was a lot of storytelling exaggeration on their part.

Then there was Lt. Ritter. The man seemed to be off in his own personal dreamland a lot of the time. He often wandered off on his own away from the camp, probably to avoid Colonel Edwards's bad temper. Ritter's geographical surveys of the surrounding terrain were necessary, of course, and very helpful, but it irked both Edwards and Evan himself when Ritter disappeared off to who knows where.

He always returned to camp in time for chow, fortunately, but sometimes Evan worried that Ritter's absent-minded recklessness would come back to bite him. The scattered traces of naquadah in the surrounding mountains caused electromagnetic interference with the radios and made compasses totally useless.

They hadn't encountered any hostile locals or overly aggressive wildlife thus far, but fog sometimes rolled in unexpectedly, killing any sort of visibility. Without compasses, this made finding your way back to camp extremely difficult, if not downright dangerous.

The only reason that Edwards didn't just send Ritter back to the SGC was that they desperately needed geologists, even those that sometimes wandered off on their own.

Then one morning Evan was reading a letter from his old CSO, Lt. Banks ( _Major Warner had apparently been replaced by a new guy, Major Cameron Mitchell, for reasons left rather vague_ ), when Ritter sauntered into the camp, carrying a strange object over his shoulder. Frowning, Evan set aside his letter.

"Chapter and verse, Lt. Ritter," he asked pointedly.

Lt. Ritter's face didn't lose the self-satisfied expression. "I was surveying out that direction, sir, when I located the entrance to an abandoned mine. Found this right outside." He set the object down on the table; it was a long, thin bar of metal with several nasty-looking prongs on the end. "It's a Goa'uld pain stick, sir."

"Uh-huh. You do know that mines are usually abandoned because there's nothing left to mine, right, Lieutenant?" he pointed out dryly. Nevertheless, his heart pounded with thrill of excitement as he reached out to touch the device's haft. This was the first positive sign so far. If there was the possibility that the Goa'uld hadn't mined everything dry…!

"Sir, with all due respect, the Goa'uld abandon worlds for all sorts of reasons. It's worth checking out," the lieutenant protested.

Evan sighed in a mix of resignation and annoyance. Ritter was right, it was definitely worth exploring, but part of him was extremely frustrated that the man kept going out on his own. The fact that he actually found something potentially significant would not help matters any, either. "Any more leftover artifacts like this?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, there's a ton of stuff lying around," Ritter reported excitedly. "And the entrance isn't all that far. It was pretty overgrown, though, which is why we hadn't spotted it earlier."

Evan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Lieutenant, this is probably the biggest find since this survey started, but you gotta stop going out on your own."

"Sir," Ritter replied, his eyes shining brightly, "if this is as big as I think it is, I won't _have_ to anymore. We'll have all the naquadah we could hope for."


	14. Misplaced Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne has trouble understanding why Dr. Jackson is so upset with him and his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.07, "Enemy Mine." 
> 
> That's right, my friends, we've reached at long last Major Lorne's first canonical appearance! SG-1 has come to SG-11's mineral survey camp on P3X-403 to locate the missing Lt. Ritter; Daniel, naturally, gets upset with Lorne that they've moved a bunch of artifacts around while conducting their mineralogical survey. Lorne's response? "They were _in the way_."

A bit nonplussed, Evan led the search-and-rescue team away from the camp, wondering just what it was that happened a moment ago. Maybe this rock and its "peculiar electromagnetic properties" were messing with his brain. Or maybe he was just so distracted by his concern for Lt. Ritter; it wasn't like him to miss a meal.

"You seem troubled, Major Lorne," observed Teal'c as Evan led them down the path to where Lt. Ritter was last seen. Evan didn't know the big Jaffa well (did anyone, aside from his team-mates?), but he liked him. Teal'c usually only spoke when he had something of merit to say, unlike a lot of people, and could imbue the slightest quirk of an eyebrow with more meaning than certain people (Menard, for one!) could manage in a five minute monologue.

"Why is Dr. Jackson so annoyed at me? He looked like he was gonna have an aneurysm or something over those artifacts." It wasn't as if they smashed them into little bits or anything. They were all placed nice and neatly on the table in the camp. No one would step on them or trip over them there (a definite danger when dealing with easily distracted scientists).

"I have noticed Daniel Jackson is often more at ease with ancient artifacts than with warriors such as yourself," the Jaffa replied. Evan thought he heard a smile in his voice, though there seemed to be little change in his expression. "He thinks you show no concern for the importance of the past."

"'No concern'?" Evan repeated in disbelief. His stomach gurgled uneasily; the casserole they had for chow was not quite agreeing with him. (He hated eggplant, but it wasn't as if they had a ton of culinary options in their little off-world survey camp.) His tour here was almost over, and he'd probably be headed back to the SGC in a few more days, and just as they finally made a big discovery. "Hey, I made sure we didn't damage anything. And we _were_ going to call him." At _some_ point, anyway, he ruefully acknowledged to himself.

"Yeah, but Daniel likes things _ever_ just so," interjected Colonel O'Neill, who trailed a few steps behind them. "People moving artifacts around is one of his pet peeves."

"We're trying to locate enough naquadah to build ships to defend Earth against the Goa'uld, and he's upset that we moved some old junk around, sir." Evan winced internally at the turn of phrase; he was starting to sound like Colonel Edwards. They _still_ hadn't been able to finagle a new coffee maker out of the SGC, and it was definitely starting to show. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only member of the survey team with any sort of good humor left. Menard's report of a possible major naquadah deposit was the first good news in ages, but Ritter's disappearance put a damper on most of the joy from the discovery.

Evan also tried to control the sense of awe he felt around SG-1; they were here to do a job, and Evan wouldn't help anyone by babbling over how cool it was to finally meet them in the field. His annoyance at Dr. Jackson was certainly helping in that regard.

"To Daniel Jackson, even seemingly-worthless objects may be of great value," Teal'c remarked sagely. "He does not see with the same eyes as you or I, Major Lorne."

"That's for sure." Evan liked Dr. Jackson, so far as he knew the man (which basically was a bunch of stories about him as told by various SGC personnel, and one brief meeting in the gym before Evan's assignment on P3X-403), but he couldn't help but be frustrated by his attitude. Lt. Ritter was out there alone somewhere, maybe injured, and Dr. Jackson was getting worked up about them moving some worthless old Goa'uld trash that had probably been discarded and abandoned centuries ago.

"Look, Lorne," Colonel O'Neill drawled, resting his arms on the P-90 clipped to his vest, "Daniel can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's _our_ pain in the ass. And he does know what he's talking about." There was a slight beat. "Usually."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow expressively, the shadow of a smile ghosting across his face. "Indeed."


	15. Changing Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne, fresh from his assignment on P3X-403, is given the option of an entirely different career path from the one he started on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between _Stargate SG-1_ episodes 7.08, "Space Race," and 7.09, "Avenger 2.0," with no connection to either episode.
> 
> Lorne, at this point, has completed his temporary assignment with SG-11 on P3X-403 and is set to return to the F-302 program out of McMurdo.

**Setting** : between _Stargate SG-1_ episodes 7.08, "Space Race," and 7.09, "Avenger 2.0."

* * *

"So, Major, how's the naquadah mining operation on P3X-403 coming along?" General Hammond asked conversationally, folding his hands on his broad desk. Of course, the general had already read his written report, and wasn't exactly one to engage in small talk, so Evan figured that there was a shoe in the wings that was waiting to drop.

"Better than expected, actually, sir. Now that the Unas have been properly instructed in the use of the mining equipment, and the cultural misunderstandings sorted out, everything has pretty much fallen into place. We should have our first real naquadah shipment soon," he stated. Even Colonel Edwards had unbent a little after he saw how fervently the Unas went to their work extracting the mineral.

General Hammond practically glowed, obviously pleased by the report. "That's good news, Major. I was sorry about Lt. Ritter - he was a good man. I know you and SG-11 would have liked to have been there for his funeral."

"Yes, sir." Ritter's death had been very hard on them, especially Colonel Edwards. Evan would not be surprised if he handed in his retirement papers soon; the man was as professional as they came, and very good at his job, but this life took its toll. Working side by side with the same Unas who had killed Ritter (even though it'd been a misunderstanding) had not been easy.

Ritter left behind a widow, too, and a toddler. Evan had visited them earlier in the day, delivering letters of condolence from the colonel and the rest of SG-11. He'd only known Ritter a few months, but the grief and pain on his widow's face as she pulled him into her arms was almost too much. His breath hitched slightly, and he covered it by clearing his throat.

The general smiled sympathetically. "I know how hard it is to lose a team-mate, Major. Don't be ashamed of how you feel."

Evan nodded briefly, acknowledging the kindness from his superior officer. "Yes, sir."

"Now, Major, we can get to the reason I called you in. Your assignment on P3X-403 is over, and I'm assuming you wanted to return to your previous track with the F-302 squadron." There was a glimmer in General Hammond's eye that made Evan suspicious. What was he up to?

"Yes, sir."

"In that case, I'd appreciate it if you considered an alternative. You're a fine pilot, but we have more pilots than available 302s at the moment. We _are_ , however, short of qualified officers for off-world exploratory teams." The glimmer had resolved itself into obvious smugness; the general was very, very pleased with himself, and Evan, thinking quickly, guessed at the reason.

"You're forming new teams, sir?" he asked curiously, ears perked. And here, it seemed, was the suspected dropping shoe. There had been scuttlebutt circulating, but nothing concrete. This was big news, and would interest quite a few members of the SGC.

"That's right, Major. At my request, the president's approved the formation of five additional SG teams. I think you know how short-handed we can get out there. SGs-21 through 25 will be our new front-line reconnaissance and support teams."

The general was absolutely right in his assessment, as far as Evan was concerned. Even with the rapid technological leaps and bounds made over the past few years, manpower was still a big problem at the SGC, especially given the necessity for operational security. Every single person brought into the Program had to be vetted and re-vetted in order to protect the secrecy of the operation.

"And you want me to join one of these teams?" he asked cautiously.

"That's correct, Major. You've been recommended to _lead_ one of these new teams, in fact. So, if you decide to accept this assignment, you'll be permanently transferred to the SGC as soon as the paperwork goes through. I know it's not the way you thought things were going to go when you joined the Stargate Program, but I think you'll find this command both challenging and rewarding," Hammond noted.

"Yes, sir," Evan replied faintly, blinking in shock at the sudden turn of events.

Ever since he joined the Air Force, all he wanted was to be a pilot. The 302 training accident had put that on hold, but he'd always expected to go back to it after his stint as a geologist with SG-11. This was... _wow_. He'd never truly considered leading a team through the Stargate, but something about the idea struck that old adventuresome chord in him. A slow smile spread across his face.

"You don't have to give me your answer at this very second, Major," General Hammond chuckled, no doubt well aware of what was running through Evan's mind at break-neck speeds. "But we will need to know before the end of the day."

"If I may ask, sir, who was it that recommended me?" he asked after a long moment.

"Both Colonel Edwards and Colonel O'Neill separately brought your name to my attention, actually."

"Really?" he blurted despite himself, rather surprised by the news. He knew Colonel Edwards liked him (it had taken a bit, but Evan had valiantly managed to overcome his less-than stellar first impression), but Colonel O'Neill hadn't shown any particular interest in him during their encounters. In fact, Evan clearly remembered driving Dr. Jackson to distraction over some artifacts before losing his lunch in front of Teal'c.

To put things in perspective, getting O'Neill's recommendation was akin to finding the Holy Grail in your sock drawer - just as amazing as it was unlikely. And Evan had no idea that the Grail could show up in his sock drawer in the first place. (Okay, well, that metaphor was pushing it.)

"Yes, really," the general affirmed in amusement. "Now, if you _do_ take this assignment, you'll have a say in the members of your team. The new teams will be made up of a mixture of new recruits to the Program and transfers from older teams."

It was a good strategy, placing the new guys together with veterans of interstellar travel, he mused. If he had learned anything from his time with on P3X-403, it was that experience counted for a great deal out there in the galaxy. Not everyone was as lucky as SG-1.

"I'm not going to tell you what choice to make here, Major. You know as well as anyone how dangerous it is out there," General Hammond said, his tone now deadly serious as he echoed Evan's thoughts. "The Goa'uld aren't the only threat you'll face, and every time you step through the Gate could be your last."

"Sir, with all due respect, it could've just as easily been me the Unas grabbed, instead of Lt. Ritter, but that doesn't mean we don't desperately need that naquadah. I'm not gonna turn down this opportunity because it's dangerous, sir. I could get flattened by a speeding car while crossing the road - but that just means I've gotta look both ways before crossing."


	16. Old Friends and New Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne and General Hammond discuss a prospective recruit for the major's new team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly before _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.09, "Avenger 2.0." There is no direct connection to that episode.

Evan stared in surprise at the file open on the conference table in front of him. The rest of the table was covered with stacks of personnel files; the pile of 'maybes' was much smaller than the rejects, and he still had to winnow it down to only three for his team. The name on this particular file, however, was very familiar, indeed. "Coughlin, sir?"

The general seemed amused. "Airman Coughlin is on our list of possible candidates for the Stargate Program. I understand you served together a few years ago, and I was hoping to get your personal impressions as to whether he'd be a good fit. It's one thing to read personnel evaluations, it's quite another to hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

"Well, sir, he's got one of the most devious minds of any man I've met. He approaches problems laterally, rather than taking them head-on. I'm pretty sure he would've been an engineer if he hadn't gone SpecOps. I once observed a capture the flag training exercise in which he took out ten opponents by himself, allowing the rest of his team to reach the objective without encountering a single hostile."

"How'd he manage that?" Hammond asked curiously.

It had been the most ridiculously one-sided training exercise Evan had ever witnessed, and definitely embarrassing for Ben Macy, who'd invited him to observe. Mace had expected to show off for his old hometown buddy, but things had definitely not gone according to plan. Evan had contemplated warning Macy about Coughlin, who was quite frankly notorious for his stunts, but figured that it would be a valuable educational experience in overconfidence for Mace.

"Well, first he climbed a tree, sir," Evan replied, a smile creeping across his face at the memory. He, of course, had been expecting Coughlin to try something like that, but he had the advantage of knowing the man. "People, even in the armed forces, sometimes forget to look _up_."

"Don't I know it," quipped the general.

"Well, that's how he took out six of them," Evan continued with the tale of woe. "The other four guys... One hit a cleverly concealed trip wire after avoiding the other two obvious ones. I'm pretty sure his entire face was covered in paint. Another guy was lured into a cave. He ended up with paint up to his knees. The third guy was led on a wild goose chase for a while before ending up with a happy face in paint balls on his back. The last guy, well, Coughlin ran him off a cliff into a lake. By the time he managed to get out again, the exercise was over."

Macy had taken his unplanned dunking and embarrassment with remarkable good grace and treated Coughlin to a beer afterwards. Fortunately, Mace always had been a good sport. Evan was honestly a bit disappointed that Mace had left the Air Force for a job with the police department back home in San Francisco. He would definitely have been on Evan's shortlist otherwise.

"Coughlin sounds like quite a character," General Hammond noted dryly.

"Yes, sir," Evan agreed. "I wouldn't want to go up against him, ever. But there might be a different problem."

"What's that, Major?"

Fortunately, Evan mused, Hammond was not by any means a stringent, inflexible commanding officer like some Evan had endured in the past. No, he was by contrast extremely patient and lenient, especially given their line of work. He'd need every ounce of it if he hoped to deal with Coughlin...

"Coughlin's a prankster, sir," Evan confessed readily. "And the more his COs came down on him, the worse it got. I know that when we served together it drove our CO to distraction. I heard that he once disassembled an officer's humvee and rebuilt it inside the guy's office. To be honest, I have no idea how he did it so quickly by himself, and he of course denied he had anything to do with it. And given that there wasn't any real evidence he was behind the prank, they were forced to be happy with making him take it apart and put it back outside."

Hammond leaned back in his chair, folding his hands as he contemplated Evan's tale. "I read the disciplinary notes in his file. Do you think it would be a problem here at the SGC?"

"No, sir," Evan shook his head fervently. "Coughlin knows his duty inside and out. On the job, he is one of the best, and I'm not just using that as a figure of speech, sir. He just uses the same skills to relax, as well. It might be a bit annoying at times, sir, but none of his pranks have ever been dangerous or harmful, and he would never do anything to compromise the safety or operational security of the SGC."

"So, taking everything you know about the man into account, you would recommend him for duty here, Major?"

"Absolutely, sir," he answered immediately. "And if you do approve him, I'd definitely want him on my team." Evan paused momentarily. "If I may ask, sir: who was it that brought his name to you?"

"That would be Major Davis at the Pentagon," evenly replied Hammond. ( _One of these days_ , Evan thought, _I'll find out who recommended **me** to the SGC..._ )

Evan's opinion of Paul Davis had skyrocketed since their initial interview at the Pentagon. The man clearly ran interference for the SGC at the Pentagon, and apparently spent his free time sorting through possible new additions to their little top-secret program.

No wonder he picked out Coughlin, despite the disciplinary issues. Few people stationed here at the SGC could be considered strictly by-the-book, perfect-on-paper airmen or Marines. This place could be downright insane, and it definitely begged for lateral thinking. The Goa'uld and their Jaffa slaves always far outnumbered the Tau'ri in the field, and head-on confrontations were rarely recommended. Evan smiled slightly: all in all, this was possibly the most perfect posting for someone like Coughlin. "Give the major my best, sir. Coughlin would be a great addition to the SGC."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Ben "Mace" Macy is an original character. He will pop up again in a future story or two.


	17. You'd Better Believe It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne reads Coughlin into the Program. Coughlin's current commanding officer is relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.09, "Avenger 2.0."

"You _are_ aware of his record, Major," the iron-grey colonel asked dubiously, looking over the various official forms Evan had handed him. "Coughlin's a trouble maker, to put it mildly. A few days ago, the office staff found that every single one of their pens had been replaced with crayons. He's a major discipline problem, quite frankly."

"I've served with Coughlin before, and I am fully aware of his record, sir," Evan replied evenly. He expected this sort of reaction from Coughlin's commanding officer and was well prepared. "This request comes from the Pentagon; I'm just the messenger here, sir. One more thing: because of the classified nature of the assignment, I'll need a secured room for his briefing, sir."

"So you can discuss your top-secret 'deep space radar telemetry' at Cheyenne Mountain?" the older officer scoffed incredulously, clearly not buying it for a moment. "Pentagon cover stories get worse every year, Major. Well, if you want him, _I'm_ certainly not going to stand in your way. You can use the room next my office for your briefing." He tapped the intercom on his phone. "Send Airman Coughlin in now."

_"Yes, sir,"_ the voice at the other end replied immediately. A few moments later, the office door opened, and Coughlin entered and saluted stiffly. He appeared much as Evan remembered him - he'd even managed to earn himself another stripe on his sleeve, despite the disciplinary problems he had given his commanding officers. _(Crayons! Typical Coughlin-ism.)_

"Reporting as ordered, sir," Coughlin said formally.

"At ease, Airman." The colonel shot a piercing glare at him, but Coughlin merely stared straight ahead as he snapped into position. "You should remember Major Lorne. He's here to brief you on a new assignment." Evan thought he caught a glimpse of _please, oh please take it_ _and leave me in peace_ in the colonel's eyes. Things must be even worse here than he thought.

"Yes, sir!" Coughlin's own eyes didn't flicker even slightly from their forward-facing stare. Evan was absolutely certain that he was mocking the colonel - either that, or Coughlin had a secret identical twin brother with the same name and a serious obsession with military stiffness. The act continued right up until the door to the private room closed behind them and Evan locked it.

"It's good to see you again, sir," Coughlin smiled as he sat down at the table.

Privately, Evan was deeply relieved that he hadn't actually changed all that much. "You, too, Coughlin. How'd you manage to get that promotion, anyway?"

"My last CO had a moment of weakness, sir," joked the other man cheerfully. "So, what's this all about? Last I heard, you were at Nellis. This top secret briefing stuff sounds more up the way of Groom Lake, to me, sir."

"Actually, you're not all that far off. Area 51 is mostly science geeks doing R&D. _My_ outfit is more in the way of fieldwork." Evan snapped opened his briefcase and pulled out a file which Coughlin eyed with interest. "Before I go any further, I have to tell you three things. First, this program is strictly voluntary; whether you join up or not is entirely up to you."

Coughlin's brows drew together. "Yes, sir."

"Second," Evan continued, "Even routine ops with this outfit are extremely dangerous. I won't lie to you or minimize the risk. We've lost people." He tried his best not to grimace as Lt. Ritter's brutalized corpse flashed through his mind before he could stop it. Coughlin obviously caught his expression, because his eyes narrowed. He was no idiot, despite his playful and mischievous nature.

"And the third thing, sir?" he asked, a little bit more pensively.

Evan smiled just a bit. It wasn't that long ago _he_ was in Coughlin's seat, and Major Davis was the one on the inside. "It's the wildest ride you'll ever have. I won't say that it's crazier than you'd ever imagine, because, quite frankly, I know you too well."

Coughlin grinned appreciatively at the remark. "That you do, sir. Alright, you've got me hooked," he said, with barely a moment's thought. "It can't be all bad if they landed you, sir, so it's almost certainly worth it for me. So, show me where I need to sign, and fill me in."

This was even easier than Evan had thought it would be. Coughlin must be _really_ bored lately. Hence the colonel's near-desperation to get rid of him. Evan felt a twinge of pity for the man.

"Oh, one last thing. If you _do_ reveal anything of what I'm about to tell you, you'll disappear into a hole so deep you won't even be able to find your own ass." Evan pushed the file over to Coughlin's side of the table. "It's called the Stargate Program. It's based out of Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. From there, we use an alien device known as the Stargate to travel to other planets through a stable artificial wormhole. The Stargate Program's mandate is to explore these worlds, make contact with new cultures, and acquire alien technology to defend Earth against extraterrestrial threats."

The look Coughlin gave him was utter disbelief. "Uh, sir, that's the plot line of _Wormhole X-Treme!_ ," he replied. "You know that show only lasted three episodes."

"But I hear it's doing great on DVD. Thankfully for our plausible deniability," Evan quipped, to Coughlin's further confusion.

Coughlin's jaw dropped, and his eyes lit up brilliantly as he put it all together. "Un. Be. Lievable," he said, shaking his head. "You really aren't kidding, are you, sir? _Candid Camera_ was never your bit. You can throw out a sarcastic line with the best of them, sir, but you really never bought into April Fool's Day." He whistled as he looked at the first page of the file. "Wormholes, aliens, interplanetary wars! How've you guys managed to keep this under your hats for so long, sir?"

"We eat right. Bowl of Wheaties every morning. There's also a great deal of hard work and no small amount of luck, as well as the general gullibility of the masses working in our favor. At the moment, Stargate Command is operating twenty teams out of Cheyenne Mountain. Some of them are recon teams, the guys out in front, making first contact and doing initial exploration. A couple are straight-up combat support teams. A few are archaeological teams, while others are engineering teams. My last team, SG-11, was tasked with mineral survey of an abandoned mine on a planet halfway across the galaxy."

"You, sir? You're a pilot - how'd you get sucked into the geology tournament?" Coughlin queried, his entire body practically brimming with interest.

"I got laid up awhile back, so they decided to put my geology background to use," Evan explained. It was a little strange, actually being able to discuss everything about the Program with a relative outsider, even though he knew Coughlin pretty well. "Anyway, we're adding five new teams to the SGC, and, believe it or not, Coughlin, your name came up as a possible addition."

Hopefully, they would have fixed whatever was going on with the Stargate system by the time he got back to the SGC. Not even SG-11 could get back home at the moment. Why the SGC hadn't long ago fired that idiot Felger into the nearest black hole, Evan could _not_ understand. The man was worse than Dr. Lee - at least Lee usually didn't put the _entire galaxy_ at risk when one of his projects went wrong.

"It's because someone has good taste, sir," Coughlin replied, bringing Evan back to the matter at hand. Something else occurred to to the airman, and he grinned wickedly. "Wait, does this mean that the characters in _Wormhole X-treme!_ are based on real people, too?"

_It's what I do!_ danced across Evan's thoughts. Since he had no desire for Colonel O'Neill to track him down and kill him slowly, there was only one response to that question.

"I can neither confirm nor deny it," he responded evenly.


	18. Training Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne sits back and enjoys the show as Coughlin goes through one of the SGC's training exercises. He just can't get enough of it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate SG-1_ season 7, between episodes 7.09, “Avenger 2.0,” and 7.10, “Birthright”.

Evan glanced up as Colonel Dixon grabbed the seat next to him in the security office.

“Don’t tell me I’m late!” the older officer said as he settled the large bowl of steaming, butter-drenched popcorn on the desk.

“Nope, they’re just starting, sir,” Evan replied, gesturing to one of the upper monitors.

The attacking force was made up of new recruits to the Stargate Program. That said, none of the four was fresh out of the Academy or basic training - these were experienced operators. Harper and his Marine team were playing defense.

The objective was fairly straight forward: secure the Goa’uld crystals and make it back to the Stargate.

“I can’t wait to see what Coughlin has in store.” Evan leaned back in his chair, well prepared to enjoy the show.

“Who’s your boy paired off with there?” Dixon gestured with a butter-covered finger, which he quickly licked off when it began to drip. Coughlin and another man had split off from the other two members of the team, heading down Charlie corridor from the Gateroom.

“Reed. He was a TACP specialist in some pretty rough neighborhoods.”

Dixon nodded appreciatively. Stargate Command aside, the Tactical Air Control boys were some of the few front-line combat specialists in the Air Force.

As for Reed himself, Evan couldn’t recall him saying more than five or six words in a row. He suspected, however, that the man had a lot more going on in his head than he let show, because in almost every training session so far Reed had ended up with Coughlin on his side.

More specifically, he’d always seem to be covering Coughlin’s six, as he was now as they made their way up to Level 27.

“You’d better’ve saved some of that popcorn for me, Dave!” Colonel O’Neill himself entered the room, grabbing the chair on Dixon’s other side.

“You kiddin’, Jack?” Dixon snorted. “This is mine! I have enough trouble with my kids stealing it when I'm at home. You're a big bad colonel in the United States Air Force, Jack - get your own popcorn!”

“Teal’c ate it all!” O’Neill complained petulantly. “You can’t take your eyes off him alone for a second, I’m tellin’ you. Hey, where’d they stash the Goa’uld crystals this time?”

“Dr. Jackson’s lab on Level 18,” Evan replied. He was a bit surprised at the senior officer’s casual entrance, but he set aside his apprehension and focused on the screens. In all likelihood, some of the men he was watching would end up on his team. Coughlin, for certain, if he managed not to drive anyone to insanity before official assignments were handed out. And it was looking more and more like Reed would be the next on the list.

“Who’re the new guys playing against this time?” O’Neill asked.

“Harper and his Marines. All I can say is, thank God it’s not me this time,” Dixon replied around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Hey, don’t complain, Dixon. Last time, I got shot!”

“Stop bitching, O’Neill, it was a fake wound. Don’t try to make it sound like you _didn’t_ enjoy running those little greenhorns around like a cat with a laser pointer!” retorted Dixon with a derisive laugh.

“Looks like the Marines’ve set up a defensive perimeter,” Evan observed, drawing their attention back to the screens. He could just see the tell-tale red jewel that gave away that all the weapons were intars. They were pretty useful additions to the SGC arsenal, in his opinion. A good chest shot from an intar could knock pretty much anyone out cold for a short time, with no permanent damage.

“Carter’s gonna be sorry she missed this,” Colonel O’Neill mused, slouching in his chair.

**Three hours later...**

“So, Harper, how’d that training exercise go?” Evan innocently asked the other major across a plate of macaroni & cheese in the mess hall.

Harper glared at him in annoyance. “You tell me, Lorne. I know you were watching the whole thing from the security office.”

“Hey, don’t be a sore loser, Harper. They might’ve been new to the Program, but they weren’t fresh out of Basic,” he pointed out practically. “All of them have seen action. Reed particularly.”

“That may be true, but his buddy Coughlin is cocky enough to get someone killed with one of his stunts one of these days,” Harper snapped, stabbing viciously at his macaronis with his fork. “He’s too full of himself for the good of his team.”

“I know that Coughlin’s a wise-ass, but I think he demonstrated pretty well that he’s also damn good at what he does,” Evan retorted calmly. This was hardly the first time he’d seen Coughlin pull such tricks out of his proverbial hat during a training exercise. (He’d have to shoot Macy an e-mail at some point to let him know that he wasn’t alone in his humiliation at the hands of Coughlin.) “And his team _did_ complete the mission objectives completely intact, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did,” Harper gritted out, as if saying aloud it would be admitting that he wore pink tutus while he was off-duty.

Evan rolled his eyes at the Marine team leader’s reticence. “Come on, don’t be bitter, Harper. They aren’t handing out trophies for this. Unless you count going through the Gate and getting shot at.”

“I’m not bitter, Lorne!”

“Oh, really? Because I seem to recall watching your team getting knocked on their collective Marine asses by Coughlin and Reed while Bosworth and Nguyen secured the Goa’uld crystals in Dr. Jackson’s lab,” Evan remarked dryly.

It had been quite entertaining to watch the pair distract and immobilize the defenders while Bosworth and Nguyen popped out the ventilation shaft in the lab. Evan had no doubt whose idea that had been. The strategy wouldn’t have worked as well as it had, however, had Reed not been there to cover Coughlin the way he did.

All this made Evan more convinced than ever that Coughlin and Reed belonged on his team together.

“Fine, fine, laugh it up, Lorne. Next time, you get to be the bad guy. I can’t wait to see _you_ get tied up and locked in the closet,” Harper said flatly, setting aside his fork.

Evan shrugged. “Yeah, and when that happens, I’m sure you’ll be there. Look, none of us likes getting shown up by the new guy, Harper. And I’ll be the first to admit that Coughlin is a royal pain in the ass sometimes. But when the chips are down, he’ll get the job done, and done well. You know how it is out there - always outnumbered and outgunned. We need guys like Coughlin, and you know it.”

Harper looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. While he was a good Marine and valuable member of the SGC, he had only recently been promoted to team leader and felt he had something to prove. Being cut down to size by a team of recruits so green to the Stargate Program just plain hurt his pride. The fact that they were _Air Force_ recruits just added insult to injury.

“Hey, Harper! How’s that pain in your ass feeling?” called Colonel Dixon, grinning wickedly as he set his heavily loaded tray down at the next table.

Harper’s expression could have melted naquadah.


	19. As First Missions Go...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorne and his newly-formed team go on their very first mission through the Stargate. It goes pretty much as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set following _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.10, "Birthright."

Evan woke up in a dungeon, his head throbbing and blood boiling. He should've seen it coming; their genial host had been far too accommodating, insisting that Evan and his team share a meal with him.

That, of course, turned out to be a big mistake.

"Rule Number 1: Don't eat the food," he muttered angrily to himself as he sat up. How many times had he read about bad things happening when an SG team member sampled the local cuisine? One of his first off-world missions, and he gets himself and his team captured. What a way to start his first command.

"Don't feel too bad, sir. SG-1 didn't do much better on their first mission." His second-in-command, Stevens, shot him a weak wave of his hand as he leaned back against the stone wall with a grimace, clearly trying to control the heaving of his own gastrointestinal tract.

Off to one side, Reed was already awake as well, and looking after Coughlin, who was just beginning to stir. 

"Everyone alright?" Evan asked.

Coughlin grimaced, laying an arm across his stomach. His face was pasty white with a faintly green tinge. 

"Oh, God, that stuff really has a kick," he moaned. Reed helped him sit up and put his head between his knees to stave off the nausea. 

"I'm fine, sir," Reed confirmed quietly. Evan still hadn't quite got the hang of reading him; the big man rarely gave anything away. 

"I'm good, too, sir," Stevens replied, wincing as he rubbed his temples. "I'm gonna kill the slimy bastard."

"First, we gotta get out of here," Evan pointed out pragmatically. They had been stripped of all their gear, though their captors had thoughtfully left them in their boots and BDUs rather than stripping them naked. He turned his examination to their cell: it appeared to be constructed of solid stone; there were no windows to climb out of, and the only door appeared to be constructed of heavy wood and reinforced by metal bars. 

In short, their immediate situation did not look all that hopeful.

Slowly, his headache faded. Coughlin, leaning back against the wall, had regained a good deal of color and no longer looked like death warmed over. Evan suddenly heard muffled voices outside the door, followed by the scrape of a heavy lock. The door opened, and five guards armed with nasty looking swords entered the room. Following them was a lanky young man - barely more than a kid, actually, despite the authoritative stance with his hands behind his back. He had close-cropped brown hair that seemed a bit out of place among the scruffier locals, and he wore remarkably simple clothing compared to pretty much everyone else they'd seen.

"Soldiers of the Tau'ri," he addressed them, "You will be taken to the Chappa'ai and handed over to the servants of the god Moloc. There is a great reward for your heads, alive or dead, and my master is much desirous of it."

"Oh, charming," Evan replied sardonically. He glanced at Stevens, purposefully maintaining a relaxed stance as he looked for an opportunity to make a move. "Isn't Moloc the snake who decided to kill every female Jaffa that was born in his little corner of the galaxy?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Stevens affirmed easily. "Can't say that I ever want to meet him, sir."

"I'm rather attached to my head, sir. Prefer not to lose it if at all possible," remarked Coughlin, obviously feeling well enough to make awful puns. He had managed to climb to his feet; it wasn't totally obvious that he was leaning slightly on Reed for support.

The strange young man smiled at Evan, then revealed what he held in his hands behind his back: two of their own 9-millimeter sidearms. 

"You'll be leaving here one way or another," he stated ominously - then abruptly opened fire. The guards never saw it coming; all five of them were killed in mere seconds, without even time to register that their own comrade had turned on them, let alone react to the sudden attack.

Even as the guards' lifeless corpses hit the floor, the unexpected rescuer handed over one of the purloined sidearms to Evan, along with an extra clip which he produced from his pocket. "Come on, Major, there's not a lot of time. I have the rest of your gear in a safe place - we can retrieve it on the way out."

"Who are you, and why are you helping us?" Evan demanded, swiftly checking his weapon.

"It's a long story, sir. We gotta get outta here now. I can get you back to the Chappa'ai - the Stargate," he corrected himself, then grinned. "Well, at least I don't have to be a casualty for the rest of the day this time. Follow me."

The young man turned swiftly and left the room, gripping the 9-mil in a professional manner; clearly, he had training. Who the hell was he? Evan didn't recognize him at all; given that Evan was new to the SGC, he might not know everyone yet, but Stevens had been there for over a year already, and he seemed just as confused as the rest of them. 

On the other hand, Evan figured that following the mystery kid was probably a better option than waiting around to be handed over to Moloc's Jaffa. 

"Let's go," he ordered, following after the kid. It was a few tense minutes of stealthy sneaking through corridors and up twisting stairs before they were led into a side room. All their gear was carefully laid out on tables, sorted neatly by who it belonged to. The only things that appeared to be missing were the two sidearms and the extra ammo the kid had produced when he rescued them. Nothing else seemed to be tampered with. 

The young man kept a lookout as they threw their tac vests on and strapped their holsters and feeling a lot less naked. Suddenly, they heard distant shouting. 

"Hurry, we don't have much time," he urged them. 

"Well, so much for sneaking out of here..." Evan observed grimly.

The young man snorted in disgust, his face a mask of derision. "These bastards are a bunch of thugs, sir. While they can beat up defenseless villagers just fine, they're no match for trained soldiers. That's why they drugged your meal - no way they could hope to take you on in a fair fight. I came here a couple months ago with a few other men to try and change things from the inside out, but let's just say your arrival made us move up our timetable. My men are waiting for us at the village."

"Could we at least get your name before we storm the castle?" asked Coughlin, his eyes glinting in the flickering torchlight.

"You can call me Kyle, sir," he replied with a cocky grin. "Captain Kyle Rogers. Feels good to see guys from Earth again. Give Colonel O'Neill and Master Teal'c my regards when you get back, will you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyle Rogers was the leader of a group of young humans conscripted by Apophis specifically to infiltrate Earth. They were encountered by SG-1 in episode 3.09, "Rules of Engagement," and were likely repatriated after the events of that episode. I find it _highly_ unlikely that the infiltrators' mission would have succeeded in the first place, to be honest.


	20. Airlift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan and his team extract Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson, and Dr. Lee from Honduras. The scientists had gone to the area to locate a long-missing artifact that might help them fight the deadly Kull warriors, only to get themselves captured by local rebels. O'Neill and the local CIA contact (who knew him of old) successfully save them and recover the Bad News Box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.12, "Evolution, Part II."
> 
> The Pave Hawk is the Air Force variant of the more well-known Black Hawk helicopter. It's primarily used for insertion and recovery of Special Operations teams.
> 
> The CIA contact Burke is played by Enrico Colantoni, who is better known for playing the mob boss Elias on _Person of Interest_ and SRU sergeant Gregory Parker on the Canadian show _Flashpoint_ , both quite excellent series.

Stevens expertly set down the MH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter in the camp formerly occupied by Honduran rebels (a very generous euphemism for _terrorists_ , Evan thought). The rebel hideout was surrounded on all sides by densely-packed trees and foliage; the rusted out hulk of an old derelict chopper nested between rough, ramshackle huts and crates of supplies in the jungle hideaway. Even with the sun bending towards the west, perspiration and humidity uncomfortably stuck Evan's uniform to his back. He couldn't wait to get back to Colorado Springs.

The only person in sight was Colonel O'Neill, looking only somewhat tired (but even more sweat-soaked than Evan) as he sat cradling his weapon on an old crate near the entrance to one of the huts.

As Evan leaped out of the Pave Hawk, Colonel O'Neill climbed to his feet and shouted something into the hut, no doubt telling the others that their ride was here (as if they couldn't here the very loud chopper rotors themselves).

First out was Dr. Lee, filthy and obviously dehydrated. He was clutching a bulky object, swathed in burlap to conceal it. This measure would probably have been more important had their extraction team been of the more _normal_ Special Ops types, as the hidden object was almost certainly the artifact that he and Dr. Jackson had come down here to retrieve.

That they were kidnapped by Honduran rebels seemed strangely... mundane to Evan, given the exotic threats that the SGC _normally_ faced.

As Evan handed the scientist off to Coughlin and Reed in the Pave Hawk, Dr. Jackson slowly emerged from the hut, definitely the worse for wear. He was even more filthy than Dr. Lee, and bloodied as well; he limped along on a makeshift crutch thanks to what was possibly a gunshot wound to the leg. Whatever his injuries, he bore it all with a great deal more grace than Lee, whose expression of sheer relief said that he never wanted to leave the safety and comfort of his lab ever again. Dr. Jackson grimaced in pain as Evan helped him gingerly climb into the helicopter, with Reed providing most of the leverage from inside.

Meanwhile, Colonel O'Neill gestured and said something inaudible over the rotors to someone else inside the hut, and one more person came out: an unfamiliar man, stocky, bearded, and wearing paramilitary gear. Definitely not a local, this guy screamed "gringo"; Evan guessed that this was probably the local CIA contact.

Then both men jogged to the Pave Hawk.

"We're taking Burke here with us," O'Neill shouted over the noise.

Evan nodded and spoke into his headset. "Okay, boys, we have a guest on this ride, so mind your manners!"

In other words, _Don't say anything classified where he can hear it_. CIA or not, no way was Burke cleared to know about the SGC. When his team acknowledged him, Evan gave O'Neill the "OK" signal and allowed them on board before jumping up himself. He gave Stevens the go-ahead, and his second-in-command smoothly lifted the Pave Hawk off again. Evan watched as the now-empty encampment was lost in the thick jungle cover.

Dr. Lee visibly relaxed, almost passing out with relief but not losing his hold on the artifact. Dr. Jackson's expression was more of suppressed pain; no doubt his leg (and possibly other body parts) hurt considerably. Evan gave a swift look at the CIA contact, Burke, who was grinning like a complete maniac. The operative had _definitely_ been down here too long, and had a faintly crazed look in his eyes.

Colonel O'Neill grabbed a headset and slid it on, giving Evan something quite close to the stink-eye.

"Major, what are you and your team doing down here? I thought _I_ was the only one to get clearance for this little jaunt!" It almost sounded as if the colonel were offended at their presence.

" _Officially_ , that's correct, sir. On the books, we're just here as Air Rescue. But we had your six the whole mission, Colonel," explained Evan. "The general didn't want you down here without backup, sir, and my team has the appropriate expertise to pass for Air Rescue."

Evan had no doubt that Major Carter and Teal'c wanted to come help save the their teammate and Dr. Lee, but they were needed off-world to deal with the Kull threat with General Carter and the Tok'ra. But the SGC looked after its own, and General Hammond utterly refused to let stupid politics prevent them from saving their kidnapped scientists.

"Well, thanks for the backup, Major, but when'd you get here?" frowned O'Neill, somewhat mollified by his reply.

"We were here the whole time _you_ were, Colonel. I was your C-130 pilot from Peterson. The rest of my team was already on board when you arrived at Peterson from home base. Bird's still waiting for us to go home again."

"Ah." The colonel's brow furrowed. "And here I was, thinking you were a fighter jock, Lorne!"

"I'm qualified on a number of aircraft, sir, including the C-130."

To be fair, it had been a _very_ long time since he'd flown anything as massive as the C-130, but he remembered where all the switches were. In fact, it had been his first time back in the air since his 302 accident - even the lumbering C-130 almost made him regret leaving the flight track in favor of ground team leader. But then Coughlin had cracked some joke, and Evan felt his team around him. SG-23. Even though he was now fully recovered, he'd realized that wouldn't give up this team for the chance to play 302 jockey full time.

"Well, thanks for the ride, Lorne," Colonel O'Neill's voice crackled in his ear.

"There's a doc standing by to treat any injuries before we head back home, sir, plus a secure crate for the new toy." By 'secure,' of course, they understood 'lead-lined and shielded.' One could never be too careful with mysterious alien artifacts, even ones that had been relatively quiescent for thousands of years. To guess by their expressions, lead-lined protection was _definitely_ a good idea.

"Good work, Major," O'Neill acknowledged.

"Thank you, sir!"

Dr. Jackson suddenly picked up a headset of his own. "Hey, wait a minute, I remember you. Aren't you the guy who _moved all the artifacts_ at the _mining operation_?"

Of _course_ , of all the things he could have remembered about Evan, Dr. Jackson remembered _that_. Evan completely refused to justify that mess _again_. His face must have said something, though, because the nutty-looking CIA operative Burke burst out laughing. "You guys are all _crazy_ , you know?"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud..." O'Neill muttered.


	21. Local Indigenous Peoples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan ponders his team's most recent mission while out grocery shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.13, "Grace."
> 
> LIPs means "Local Indigenous Peoples." Edora (P5C-768) and Laira appeared in episode 3.17, "A Hundred Days," when Jack O'Neill was stranded off-world and out of contact.

Evan wandered the aisles of the mini mart, in no particular hurry to finish his shopping trip as he mulled over the events of the last mission through the Stargate. One of the more unusual hazards of their duty was the gratitude of LIPs. Part of him wanted to give Coughlin a medal for his ability to resist the advances of an Edoran girl named Paitha, whom Coughlin had rescued from a crevasse. SG-23 had been on a good-will mission to Edora, but Paitha's overly-amorous behavior was downright atrocious, not to mention awkward and embarrassing for all involved (except Paitha, of course; she seemed _entirely_ shameless).

It was all in his report, of course; you don't exactly leave something like this _out_ , since it could have bearing on future, ah, relations. But he did make sure to praise Laira, the village leader, for her cooperation in handling the situation. If he felt sorry for anyone here, it was definitely Laira. After all, she had to deal with Paitha in the long term – Coughlin could simply leave and return to Earth, though he somehow managed to handle the affair (lack thereof, more specifically) with remarkable grace and professionalism.

It was a bit odd, though; Evan had never recalled Coughlin being so embarrassed by a flirtatious girl. Not that Coughlin'd ever get into bed with an LIP while on a mission, but the whole chain of events seemed to spiral out of hand because he wouldn't even acknowledge her flaunting her, ah, assets in his direction. He had clearly seen them, too, to judge by the remarkable shade of red on his face at the time.

Distantly, Evan heard the door bells jingle as another customer entered the store. The next sounds, however, instantly yanked him from Edora and back to Earth faster than stepping through a wormhole.

"Give me all the money, old man! Come on!"

Evan set down his basket and silently crept towards the cash register. Peeking around the end display, he saw a ski-masked thug in a parka, armed with a large handgun. _Too_ large, in Evan's opinion, and there was no way he could control it properly the way he was holding it. The terrified clerk, an older fellow whose family owned the mini mart, was filling up a grocery sack with the money from the till.

"Come on, hurry up, old man, or I'll blow your head off! I ain't kidding!" the gun-wielding creep yelled at the poor man, thrusting his oversized weapon into the cashier's face. But the clerk obviously wasn't moving fast enough, so the thug pulled the trigger. The bullet missed the man's head by a terrifyingly short margin and shattered the display case behind him.

Evan knew he had to act now before the situation changed from armed robbery to murder. Even as the old man ducked for meager cover behind the counter, Evan crossed the distance to the thug.

The parka-wearing robber was taken completely by surprise. He almost certainly didn't anticipate someone fighting back, and Evan easily wrenched the large gun from his hand and tossed it away. Before the criminal could make any more moves, he found himself on the floor with his arm yanked painfully behind him and Evan's knee planted firmly on his back.

"What the hell, man!" the crook complained absurdly, as if he were the victim in the situation. Evan pulled a bit harder on the arm, causing him to yelp.

"You are some kind of moron," Evan remarked conversationally to the robber as the cashier warily peeked over the counter. With his free hand, he pulled off the thief's ski mask.

A teenager. Just a kid. Now revealed, he floundered uselessly in Evan's grip. "What are you, Five-O?" he demanded petulantly.

"Well, you're obviously not from around here," Evan chatted cheerfully before glancing over his shoulder at the old clerk, giving him a reassuring grin. "You might want to call the cops."

The thief tried to twist away again, squirming in the fond but vain hope of escape. Evan redoubled the pressure on his back to emphasize his point. "Hey, come on. You're not going anywhere before the cops get here, so you might as well save yourself the effort of struggling. You know, you probably chose the single _worst_ mini mart to rob. I personally know at least fifteen people who come here regularly."

"So what, man?" the crook grunted. "So you know people who come here!"

Evan didn't bother to hide his amusement. "There are five military installations in proximity to Colorado Springs. That's thousands of personnel. You know, armed forces types. Some of whom have seen things that would make your brain curdle like spoiled milk and leave you crying like a baby. Those types of people. People who don't like it when punks with guns terrorize defenseless civilians."

He would look back on this moment a bit surprised at the sheer amount of venom that had seeped into his voice by the end. This kid was hardly a Goa'uld System Lord, after all. But when he had that gun in his hand, he might as well have been - drunk with the power and intimidation a weapon provides. Fortunately for everyone, it wasn't long before the police arrived to take the now acquiescent robber into custody. The unfortunate clerk, overcome by the experience, could only give Evan an almost pathetic look of relief and gratitude as the cops dragged the thief away to their waiting cruisers.

After giving his statement to the cops, Evan retrieved his basket and finished his shopping.


	22. Out of the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan and his team return from a mission to discover that a certain supercilious someone has descended on the SGC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during _Stargate SG-1_ episode 7.17, "Heroes, Part I".
> 
> There are some characters that people just _hate_. This story features one of these characters. Three guesses as to who it could possibly be!

Evan marched down the ramp from the Stargate, glad the mission was finally over and done. It wasn't that he disliked standard reconnaissance missions. They were, after all, the bread and butter of SG teams, though "standard" really was a relative term. But he didn't exactly enjoy doing missions _in the rain_.

It had been a mere mist when they sent the MALP through the Gate. Unfortunately, about a half-hour into their exploration mission, it grew to a steady shower, which, while not heavy, still soaked them to the bone. A mild wind undermined any attempt to stay under cover, blowing the rain this way and that with no apparent rhyme or reason.

The end result being that everything, from their hair to their boots, was completely saturated. At least they weren't _cold_ , too.

To add insult to injury, they found absolutely nothing of interest in the immediate area of the Gate. The only path seemed to be game trails, and any people who had live there were gone so long that they hadn't even left a trace. Just trees, mud, more trees, more mud. Did he mention the mud? Squelching, sucking mud that made walking a royal pain as it tried to stick their boots to the ground.

"Damn, I don't think I've ever been so glad to be indoors," muttered Stevens, grabbing the cap off his head. Water droplets flew freely as the younger officer held the hat out despairingly.

Reed rubbed at his dripping hair with both hands as Stevens squeezed out his cap and Coughlin shook himself like a dog.

 _"SG-23, debrief will be in 1 hour_ ," Sergeant Harriman said over the loudspeaker. Evan waved acknowledgement as he led his team out the heavy doors towards the locker room, leaving a rather impressive trail of water and thick, muddy bootprints behind them. As they passed the control room, Evan heard the ever-efficient sergeant calling for cleanup in the Gateroom.

"The worst part is how much I _hate_ wet socks," Stevens complained in annoyance, his boots squelching noisily.

"I had fun, sir," Reed remarked cheerfully. The large man for some reason seemed to be enjoying the soaking far more than the rest of them.

"How come you like the rain so much, Reed?" Evan asked in disbelief, glancing over his shoulder at the unreasonably happy former TACP specialist. "You're from LA! The land of sunshine and beaches!"

"And beach babes," added Stevens a bit dreamily.

"I guess I just appreciate the rain more than you do, sir," the big man replied lightly, a ridiculous grin covering his face.

Coughlin, who had been unusually quiet and subdued, suddenly let out an enormous sneeze. He groaned miserably as Reed sympathetically patted him on the shoulder. This, of course, spattered drops of water everywhere. Evan was glad he was walking in front of his men, as he couldn't help a smile at Coughlin's expense, for once.

His amusement was abruptly curtailed by the roadblock that suddenly appeared as they rounded a corner.

"And here is one of the elite front line Stargate teams, led by one of one of the finest members of the Stargate Program, Major Evan Lorne," a supercilious voice said. Evan concealed the sudden distaste rising in him as he recognized Senator Kinsey, head of the Senate Appropriations Committee, together with an Air Force camera crew and an unfamiliar pudgy, dark-haired fellow. The four men and the equipment almost completely blocked the hallway to the locker rooms.

"Excuse us, sir, we need to get to the locker rooms," Evan said politely, addressing Senator Kinsey with a respect he _certainly_ didn't feel for the man. He'd never met the senator before, but he'd heard quite a lot from Stevens (and the gossip-mongering Sergeant Harriman). Plus, he'd seen enough of Kinsey's speeches on TV. The man had all the buzzwords, knew exactly how to pander to his constituents; as far as Evan was concerned, however, the man was a slime ball (which was actually an insult to slime balls everywhere). And he was powerful enough to be very dangerous.

Evan did _not_ like that Kinsey knew his name.

"Major Lorne, you've just returned from an off-world mission," Kinsey pompously proclaimed, clearly showing off for the camera. "Would you please tell Mr. Bregman here what it was like for you?"

 _Wet. What did he think it was like?_ Evan clasped his hands behind his back, clenching them into fists where the self-absorbed, self-righteous senator couldn't see them. "I'm sorry, sir, but we haven't yet debriefed on the mission with General Hammond."

He had no idea who this Bregman character was, and he had absolutely no intention of discussing _anything_ while muddy and dripping wet in the middle of a corridor. _Especially_ with Kinsey, except under penalty of court-martial. The man was a first-rate creep, and all Evan was interested in at the moment was a hot shower followed by a dry uniform.

"Please, sir, we would like to clean up before the debrief. If you would excuse us?"

The technical sergeant and airman with the film equipment helpfully cleared aside, making room for the team in the hallway. Evan took advantage of the opening and marched right past Kinsey and Bregman, who both stood gaping helplessly and rather fish-like in their wake. Evan heard Coughlin sneeze mightily again.

"Oh, no, I'm so sorry about that, Senator. I seem to be coming down with a cold. So sorry," Coughlin apologized meekly as he hurried past.

Evan did not dare look back, but he would make sure to get Coughlin a box of those doughnuts he really liked. He sorely wished he could've seen the look on Kinsey's face, though.


End file.
